


The Dragonborn of the 4th Era

by SaltyMapleSyrup



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Diary/Journal, Fantasy, Gen, Graphic Description, Magic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2020-09-01 17:03:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 57,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20261515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltyMapleSyrup/pseuds/SaltyMapleSyrup
Summary: For 110 years, the half-elf known as Saya Indoril had lived in Morrowind. Her long-dead Breton father had raised her with tales of old heroes, stories of his homeland, and taught her his fine craft of creating and wielding weapons. Her Dunmer mother, a beautiful and powerful wizard, had passed on her knowledge of magic and the wisdom of a life spanning nearly three centuries.And so it was, when the curiosity had overtaken her and a third of her life had passed, the girl had decided to leave home with her parents' knowledge and her mother's blessing. Thus, started her journey to see the land her father was born in - Skyrim.





	1. Awakening

_ Greetings, dear reader. My name is Saya Indoril, and I am what some may call a crossbreed - my mother was a Dunmer, while my father was a Breton, a citizen of Reach. He was a good man, an adventurer who once set out to Morrowind to never return, but not because he died. He simply met someone whom he loved more than his old home. _

_ I am writing this down in case my abilities prove to be as insufficient as I think them to be and I am to perish in some kind of dark cave, or perhaps an ancient ruin. Maybe even a city of the old dwarves, or, mayhaps, even some plane of Oblivion? _

_ I am writing this in case my memory will not pass the trial of age as smoothly as my elven body does. To remind myself of what I was, of what I want to be, and of what became of me. _

_ And also, I am writing this for whoever will find and read this when my time comes, so that you may know my story. _

============

**Sundas, the 17th of Last Seed, 4E201**

**============**

As the half-elf’s consciousness slowly returned, the cold of the morning air shook her body in a slight shiver, nipping at the barely-awake nerves. The red irises darted around the immediate surroundings, stabbed by the bright white of the snow laid upon the mountains, contrasting with the dark night sky. Her hands immediately twitched in protest, trying to rub the girl’s shoulders to get the blood flowing only to find themselves tightly bound with thick straps of leather. 

“...bloody brilliant.” - a quiet curse found its way out of Saya’s lips as she slowly ascertained her situation and leaned back in the cart helplessly with a sigh, which happened to attract the attention of a blonde Nord man across the cart. He smiled to the best of his ability in an attempt to be friendly.

“Hey, you. Finally awake?”

============

_ Today, I woke up in a carriage. Judging by the temperature, I was still in Skyrim - though that didn’t calm me much. A Stormcloak (as I later learned - named Ralof) sitting on the other side called me over and commented on my luck: and I admit, stumbling upon an ambush while camping is not my brightest moment. _

_ While he (almost immediately, might I add) made himself busy via argument with a nearby fella who looked like he rolled down a mountain, I took a moment to look around and recognized the road as the Pale Pass, and the settlement ahead of us as Helgen - Gateway to The North. I remembered it as being a pleasant enough little village. _

_ Well, other than the part where I was being brought there for my own execution. Like, okay, I know, Skyrim isn’t the friendliest to visitors, especially Dunmer, but this is a bit… much, no? _

_ As soon as we were brought to the little town, the guard at the end of our informal cavalcade hopped off his steed and searched his pouch for a few moments, pulling out a quill and a small book - as Ralof noted, a list of prisoners (gods know when he found the time to make it) - and started a rollcall. _

_ We marched to the block one by one, forming into a disorderly line as the people ahead of me were called for execution. I watched the executioner swing his axe twice, both times resulting in a sickening wet sound and a head rolling into a basket. Some parents were shouting for their kids to go home and not to watch this. _

_ It was my turn, eventually. It was… difficult to stay calm. To fight the instinct to just… run away. I froze up, to be honest. Not so much out of fear, but more so out of hope to at least get a glimpse of the moons I was born under. But then I noticed a… flash. A flash of aquamarine light come from the mountain, and for a second, the entire sky itself seemed to shake with a loud, ear-ringing roar. _

_ The captain had to practically push me onto the block as I kept standing there. Everyone was already back to their senses, but I was still looking up there, onto the mountain. I could swear I saw a glimpse of flame. _

_ But I didn’t need to swear on it. I turned my head sideways when my neck was already pressed up against the wooden crevice. The stars were blacking out. I doubted it for a moment, but I saw that - for just a few moments, I could see some of the stars disappear from the sky before reappearing again, as if blocked by something. _

_ Or someone. _

============

“It’s in the clouds!” - a male voice shrieked from atop a stone tower, loosing an arrow off into the night sky, sending the projectile whistling aimlessly. An Imperial in his late 50’s looked up, scowling as the execution was interrupted, and shouted at the soldier.

“Sentries! What do you see!?” - his command was only met with half a dozen fearful voices screaming in the dark before the guard tower and everything around it quaked, a form of what, for a second, seemed like pure darkness descended onto the structure.

Slowly, it unfurled, revealing itself: two pairs of sharp, jagged horns curling backwards and upward, as if shaped by wind resistance; a long tail adorned with thorns and spikes curled downward and around the tower, blocking one of the windows with its fan-like tip; two large wings rose into the sky before slamming down onto the cold stone, sending cracks and vibrations through it as the claws on the tips of each finger began to dig in, revealing the web-like membranes; and a pair of two eyes, previously concealed under pitch-black eyelids, now opened and shining like two crimson stars in the sky.

And focused on the block.

“A DRAGON!”

Its body looked like it was made of shadows congealed into solidity, as black as could be and almost warping the light around itself, a shard of the night sky fallen to the earth.

Only thanks to the way the stars became blocked behind it did Saya notice its neck curling back and stood up, pushing the headsman away from her with her shoulder, and turned around. For just the briefest of moments, their eyes linked, and she realized.

It was here for her.

Its scales stretched, the black lips concealed by them curling into a bestial, malicious grin before its jaws pried open, a snake-like tongue falling out and licking across the fangs. Its rib cage expanded, swallowing a hearty mouthful of the fresh air and its claws dug into the tower, using it as a counterbalance.

And then, it roared, its breath unleashing into a wave of air that impacted the ground with a loud, thunder-like clap, dust raising and wind turning solid and throwing everyone off their feet, bones cracking and shrieks of pain echoing as bodies got tossed into walls with brutal ferocity. Saya had the air knocked out of her as her form impacted the tower behind her, splattering the Dunmer across the wall before she fell onto her fours on the ground, gasping and wiping the blood from her nose.

With a growling, throaty chuckle, the beast took off as soon as her ruby eyes locked with its, another roar reverberating in the sky as flames began to fall from the skies above.

“...well, thanks.” Saya mumbled before quickly dashing into the doorway to her right.

============

_ I ran. I ran, and ran, and ran even more. My flight instinct kicked in as soon as the initial shock passed, and, following the instruction of the list guard from before - Hadvar, as I had learned - we managed to make our way into the main keep. It took a bit of acrobatics to get past the debris, but it was not too difficult, as the only main threat remained the creature in the sky which seemed to be distracted by the terrified populace. _

_ Together, we made our way through the keep, fighting off the occasional hostile Stormcloak group that managed to free themselves and claiming some equipment - in particular, a set of cheap potions of varying age, properties, and quality, a simple iron longsword that served to replace my (now lost) steel blade, and some gold. Can never have enough gold. _

_ We made our way to his home village, Riverwood, which was only 30-40 minutes or so of traveling northward, and I received some aid from his family - his way of compensating for the equipment I lost out in the woods. Some gems, a bit of money, food, an offer of shelter. It was… quite kind of him. I felt wrong to occupy the space within their house, however, so I excused myself after dinner and paid for a room at the local inn. And, of course, I bought this journal. _

_ I was never one for keeping a diary, but something inside me tingles in a way that makes me feel that keeping notes will prove to be rather important in the near future. _

_ That aside, I’m exhausted. I’ll… I don’t think I’ll be able to forget the sight of that dragon for a long, long while. Hopefully I’m tired enough to get a full night’s sleep even with that mental image. _

============

**Morndas, the 18th of Last Seed, 4E201**

============

Light scattered, hitting the glass window pane and refracting off it, forming gentle, golden rays that cascaded into the room, warming the interior. The gentle rustling of leaves and feathers signified the end of a bird’s slumber, a robin’s cheerful song greeting the morning.

Saya, on the other hand, greeted by groaning and begrudgingly sitting up to wipe her eyes. Lips dry, her face turned into a scowl as she yawned and felt the bottom lip crack, forcing out another displeased murmur from the Dunmer.

She was never a morning person, and was currently regretting not checking beforehand if the room had curtains.

A few minutes of stretching later, the clothed and armored half-mer stepped out of her room with a noticeable creak from the door - which, thankfully, was drowned in the noise of the morning inn occupied by various denizens of Riverwood. Without paying them much attention, the girl moved through the Sleeping Giant, occasionally stepping around some of the patrons.

While the air still had the slight chill of autumn, it was, thankfully, nowhere near the bite of the pre-mountainous region in which Helgen was built. Saya's fingers slowly dipped into the water, cupping it and splashing childishly, a small giggle escaping the girl's lips as she watched the nearby fish swim off swiftly. She closed her eyes, washing her face with the river water as the magicka coursed softly through her fingertips and warmed the liquid up for use. A momentary glint of metal entered Saya’s vision as she pulled a small razor out of her knapsack, looking down into the water like a mirror and tracing the sharp blade across her scalp, carefully shaving the red hair off her temples before styling the rest with her fingers.

Lastly, with a flash of magical heat drying her palms, Saya reached into a smaller pouch in the backpack and pulled out a small container. Removing the cap, her fingertips dipped into the purple paint before trailing along her face, painting a simple, segmented warpaint design on her rosy brown skin.

“Prettying yourself up?”

An amused chuckle came from behind Saya, grass rustling as a young Nord man made his way towards her. Maybe in his middle twenties, his light brown hair was relatively long, reaching midway through his neck, contrasting with the milky-white skin on his face and accenting his mismatched eyes: one green, not unlike the leaves of the surrounding trees, the other - brown, a noticeably darker shade than his locks.

Smiling, Saya washed her hands, put away the warpaint and stood up to greet the Nord - Hadvar was his name.

“If I’m about to head off towards my demise, might as well look pretty while doing it, no?” - came the witty reply, straps of the backpack sliding onto the Dunmer’s slim shoulders. She made it rather clear yesterday that she didn’t want to stay in Riverwood for long, seeing as Alvor, Hadvar’s uncle, requested she notify Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun about the events in Helgen.

“Not going to say farewell to little Dorthe?” - he asked, weight shifting to another foot, - “She was all but beaming when you taught her how to sharpen daggers yesterday. Uncle Alvor wouldn’t have let her near the grindstone.” The man’s mouth shaped into a smile, recalling yesterday’s events.

Saya shook her head. “No. I’m bad at farewells, and it’s not like I’m leaving forever. I’ll probably come by eventually. Doubt that swindling Lucan out of his coin with shiny trinkets will get old anytime soon.” - she smirked. - “That man has no sense of business whatsoever.”

Hadvar chuckled, hands sliding into pockets of his vest. He stared at the ground for a bit, not really knowing what to say.

“Well, then goodb--”

“Nope.”

Saya walked past him and put a palm on his mouth before he could finish. To his bewildered gaze, she responded with a pat on the shoulder.

“Don’t make it sound so final, Hadvar. There’s no ‘goodbye’s in life. Only ‘see you later’s.”

============

_ Before leaving, I decided to check in with Orgnar one last time to pay off my tab from yesterday. As luck would have it, I also managed to snag a bounty from Jarl Balgruuf (or, well, his steward… court, whatever) on a bunch of lowlives that settled in a ruin northwest of Whiterun. Call it the Silent Moons camp. Don’t know if they were trying to sound intimidating or what, the name only made me exhale through my nose with slightly more intensity than usual. Has a nice ring to it, though. _

_ So, I decided to head off straight there and turn in the bounty and the news of Helgen at the same time. _

_ Traveling is, admittedly, kind of boring, so I came up with a fun game for myself: roads of Skyrim don’t have names. So, by the power granted to me by boredom, the road leading from Riverwood to Whiterun I shall henceforth refer to as the Jadewood Pathway. _

_ Mmm… may be a bit too grand. The other ones are too boring though. I think I’ll stick with Jadewood. _

_ I think there are wolves nearby. Gonna go back to writing after the camp. _

============

“Knock back a fiery flin, amidst the smoke and ash! Drain the flask of whiskey - we’ll be drunk in a flash!”

Laughter rumbled through the chamber, followed by the clatter of metal mugs hitting each other in a toast. The smells were strong in the room - the sweet aroma of honey in the Honningbrew mead mixing with the delicate, yet slightly acidic scent of summer sujamma was both pleasing and intoxicating in its own right, if only it wasn’t accompanied by the ever-recognizable stink of alcohol.

“AHAHA! You know, Gilas, I think the boss was right about--_ hic, _ letting you into the gang after all.” The low, slurring voice of a male Nord echoed slightly through the tunnels. Another laugh joined him, and the speaker had a distinct Dunmer accent. “You may be a greyskin, but you know how to fuckin’ drink, and I can respect that.”

“Well, I’ll be damned! Dagon’s balls must be freezing over if you, of all people, said that!” - the words were followed by a few hearty gulps and the sound of a mug slamming onto a small wooden table. - “...’ey, is it just me or is it… _ hic _, is it a bit quiet…?”

“Where? In the boss’s room? Feel free to check, but I’m not covering your grey arse when he asks why you left the post and woke him up for no reason.” - the Nord grumbled dismissively, taking another swig and uncorking another bottle, refilling his mug with mead.

“Hmm… fair enough. None of my business if he sleeps on his loot.” Gilas scowled.

“Ha, I’d pay to see you say that to his face!” Another wave of booming laughter resounded through the chamber, the bandit leaning back in his chair before suddenly stopping, his eyes locked on the hallway. “...did you hear that?”

“Mmm…?” The Dunmer man’s eye opened lazily, looking into the hallway. “...hear what?”

The chair creaked when the taller Nord stood up from it, his expression twisted into a grimace and hand reaching for the mace hanging on his belt. “...might be nuthin’, but I’ll check. Think I heard something. Stay put and watch the loot.”

Gilas raised an eyebrow and nodded lightly, blinking as through his blurry vision, the tall shape of the fellow outlaw began taking slow steps towards a hallway, mace held loosely in one hand. He blinked, and the next moment the man’s form had vanished.

A second passed. Then two. Then five.

“...Jorunn? Everything clear down there?” The Dunmer archer stood up taking a few steps closer. The man’s ears twitched slightly as the muffled sound of grunting and struggling reached him before suddenly ceasing. With another careful step, he was standing at the edge of the room, peering into the hallway that descended towards the leader’s chambers.

Then, his eyes shot open when he noticed Jorunn’s boots peeking out the corner, his body unmoving. Instinctively, Gilas reached for his bow and shouted.

“B’VEK, WE’VE GOT COMPANY!”

With a quiet curse, a smaller, female form dashed from behind the corner, left hand bleeding slightly and clutching a steel longsword with a peculiar green shine. Gilas scrambled to pull an arrow out of his quiver, shaking hands nocking the projectile and aiming at the invader who began moving in quick zig-zagging steps, all but leaping up the stairs.

The Dunmer’s bow, already shaking from the amount of ingested alcohol, was suddenly grabbed by Saya and yanked upwards, sending the arrow wide with a whistle. The half-elf crouched down and, still holding onto the wooden limb of the weapon with her right hand, stabbed her weapon in the man’s exposed abdomen. 

“AAARRRGH, YOU DAMNED--!” - a pained curse found its way out of the bandit’s throat. He tossed the bow and reached for the dagger on his hip, frantically searching for the handle only to drop the blade, crying out in agony. The wound was beginning to singe and ache, an indescribable searing pain spreading through his torso, and moments later Gilas found the same pain eating away at his throat, his body seizing and shaking before, eventually, dropping limp onto the floor, two charred handprints now adorning the neck.

Saya grunted, flipping the body over and pulling the sword out, patting down the corpse and pocketing whatever gold the thug had on him. Taking a moment to catch her breath, the adventurer then calmly stepped over to the chair previously belonging to Jorunn and sat down. The red eyes looked at the wooden table and grabbed a nearby rag to wipe the blood off the blade as the elf humming a melody to herself.

“Let’s guzzle sujamma amid the fire and fumes, tip back the jar of liquor - let inebriation bloom~...”

============

_ Alright, two notes to self. _

_ One - snapping people’s necks is much harder than it seems. That bastard - Jorunn, was it? - damn near bit a chunk out of my hand when I tried to shut him up! Ugh. I’ll need to browse the market a bit for a better healing spell, this took so long to heal I almost considered leaving it be and waiting until I got to Kynareth’s temple. _

_ Two - I was correct, and the weapons at the camp were, in fact, enchanted. It seems that the effect’s strength depends on the time of day: it didn’t seem to do anything while the sun was still out, but when I rested up and the moons were out - the sword started glowing and seemed to burn everything it touched with this… peculiar magical heat. Like some kind of moonlight enchantment… I’ll take two others. One for disenchantment, the other for analysis. This sword though, I think I’ll keep for personal use. _

\------------------------

_ When I came to Whiterun, I was greeted by a guard stating that the city was essentially on lockdown for everyone who didn’t live in it. Name-dropping Helgen convinced him to let me through, but… not going to lie, the conversation was a smidge too tense for my liking. I could’ve sworn he was glaring at me from behind that helmet of his. Like if I so much as overstepped my boundaries by an inch I’d get thrown into jail. _

_ Good to know the trading capital of Skyrim is as friendly as ever. _

\------------------------

_ Balgruuf was a bit friendlier than his housecarl (who was just a sentence away from putting a blade to my neck), so he listened to everything I had to tell about Helgen patiently. The reward for completing my task was… well, another task. But of course. I didn’t really mind though - slashing at things was a great method of clearing my thoughts, so I accepted without much protest. _

_ This time, the task giver was Farengar Secret-Fire, the court wizard. He told me to go to a crypt called Bleak Falls Barrow, located in the mountains north-west of Riverwood. I made my notes on what I am supposed to retrieve, and after a few pointers I turned in the bounty, getting a nice 250 drakes for the Silent Moons gang. _

_ As I am writing this right now, I’m having dinner in my room at the Bannered Mare. Tomorrow, I think I’ll try tackling Bleak Falls. After that, I’ll probably make my way towards Markarth. I never did get to visit da’s place. He said the city was carved out of a mountain by dwemer (as ma often corrected - “dwemer, not dwarves”), so I’m really excited to see how it looks! _

============

**Tirdas, the 19th of Last Seed, 4E201**

============

_ Where do I even begin… _

_ When I arrived to Bleak Falls, it was inhabited by another gang of bandits. It was around the same size, but it was much more spread out - two lookouts, three patrolling units outside, two inside, one wandered off and another ran ahead to get all the loot. _

_ The real danger came from what was after them. _

_ The draugr were a threat I was aware of, but I didn’t think they’d be so… intelligent. I could swear I heard them speak. _

_ Especially the last one. _

_ It seemed to use some kind of… vocal magic. It spoke words in a language I have never heard, and its voice seemed to create waves of force that would tear my weapon out of my grasp or send me flying off my feet. I hope all of them aren’t like this. I think I broke a few ribs. Ow. _

_ But what’s even more interesting is this wall. It was so… bizarre. It was covered in scratches and indents, but I could see, I _ _ knew _ _ that it was not just random. They weren’t just signs of age. _

_ They were markings. Words. _

_ Words that the draugr spoke. _

_ I spent minutes looking at those glyphs, touching them, exploring every single curve and crack. And for a second, I thought I saw one of them… glow. _

_ I touched it, and in a brief moment, my head felt like it would split apart. My body locked up, but I felt like I got headbutted by a battering ram. My ears were ringing and I heard a roar. _

_ “Fus.” _

_ And then, I blinked, and it was as if none of it ever happened. I was still touching the rune, standing there, and the pain was gone. But that word… it was echoing inside my head. It felt heavy in my mouth, made my tongue feel… sluggish. _

_ I need to get this back to Whiterun. I need answers. _

\------------------------

_Farengar was about as __useless_ _helpful as I should have expected. While he did joyously accept the Dragonstone and gave me some insight on what it actually is (which would be a dragon burial map), he did not reveal who his partner was (as said partner hastily departed as soon as I arrived to the room) nor what he needed it for, specifically._

_ On top of that, he didn’t seem to have any information on the word I heard or why I could’ve recognized it, but he did allow me to rummage through his books and find that the wall was, in fact, full of inscribings in the dragon language. _

_ I’ll need to think on this later. Preferably in another city. Jarl Balgruuf granted me a monetary reward of around 500 drakes, which was quite generous of him, and also accepted a request of a free enchanted item of my choosing. I wasn’t very picky, so I went with a simple dagger of dwemer metal enchanted with short-term soul trap. It’ll come in handy for recharging this Silent Moon of mine. _

_ For now, though, time to sleep. I’ll go pay Hulda her 10 coins and crash on the bed. Don’t have the energy to even take off my armor. _

_ Bleh. Goodnight. _

============

**Middas, the 20th of Last Seed, 4E201**

============

The night was dark and warm. The red shine of full Masser contrasted with the black sky, painting it into a colder hue, unrivaled by the weak shimmering of a waxing Secunda. The hauntingly beautiful nightingale song masked the wind’s howl across the stretching plains.

Flashes of orange and white sparked across the land, artificial clouds filling the sky - not water, but ash and smoke, grass and flesh burned by a roar that led the night’s choir. Stone cracked and collapsed, unable to withstand the voice of bones older than itself, acting as percussion in the symphonic orchestra of agonized human screams.

But then, the night was silent. Scale gave in to metal, muscles tore and ceased to move, and bones shone with an ethereal glow. What was a raging cataclysm mere minutes ago was now a withering corpse, dissolving into light.

Light that flowed into a form much smaller than its own. Fused with it. Became it.

Was absorbed by it.

And then, the mortal bones, whether in mockery or in celebration, let out a cheer. And the mountains responded to the cheerful shout with a shout of their own - through the tongues of mortals who spoke in a language as old as time.

**DOV-AH-KIIN**

============

_ I hate this. _

_ I was woken up in the middle of the night by a guard banging on my door. He said Irileth sent him by order of Jarl Balgruuf. To kill a dragon. _

_ I repeat. I was woken up. At three in the fucking morning. To kill a _ _ dragon. _

** _(the following paragraph is a crossed-out convoluted mess of scribbled curses directed at the jarl, his housecarl, and, although a much more tame, towards the poor guard)_ **

_ Ugh… nevertheless, we went out into the fields soon after. The Watchtower was destroyed - little more than rubble remained. The last survivor we found barely had the time to squeeze out a warning from under the debris before the beast flew out from behind the mountains. _

_ I admit, while I scoffed when Balgruuf said I had the most experience with handling a dragon - the man was right. Guards followed me in my tactic (if it can be called that) of circling the thing and slashing at its wings, then targeting its head whenever it attempted to strike us. _

_ The last blow, of course, fell to me, because nobody in their right mind would volunteer to be the person to stab a mythical god-beast in the throat when it opened its jaws to breathe fire unto you. _

_ Thankfully, I never said I’m in my right mind. _

_ When it died, though, I… I don’t know what happened. I felt almost a… pull. A subconscious want to touch it. But I didn’t even get to reach for the skull before the whole body was engulfed in light and started burning away, leaving little more than a few scales and a gargantuan skeleton to salvage. It turned into… light, really. Just a blinding light that pooled in the bones before flying at… me. _

_ I felt the same throbbing headache I had in the Bleak Falls Barrow. The guards were probably quite weirded out when I just… started glowing all of a sudden after absorbing some kind of energy and then screaming in pain and clutching my head. But it felt like… if I didn’t, if I let go even for a second, then my head would crack open like a nutshell, like my mind would spill out. I felt like I was… going to burst from the inside. _

_ It was a pressure. A pressure I could not ignore. A pain that would knock the air out of my lungs and would not stop until my ribs were crushed into dust. A punch in the gut, a tail around my throat, an inflating explosive inside of my skull, just waiting to pop. _

_ A murderous, unrelenting Force. _

_ “Fus.” _

_ The word just… slipped out of my mouth instinctively. I didn’t even mean to say it, but when I did - the pain vanished. I closed my eyes because of all the dust that got raised, and the entire dragon skeleton trembled. A skeleton that six guards were struggling to pick up. _

_ Fus. Force. That was the word. _

_ I said it again, and sure enough: my breath felt heavier in my chest, and when it left my body - it turned into a wave of force that pushed the skeleton away from me. I almost fell flat onto my back, too. _

_ A guard called me over with a word I did not know, but recognized. It was something that the dragon called me right before it died. “Dovahkiin”. Dragonborn. _

_ I, a Dunmer/Breton half-breed, was Dovahkiin. A hero of Nord legend. A mortal with the soul of a dragon, the ability to speak in their tongue and the power to devour their souls. _

_ If Akatosh has a sense of humor, he must be rolling on the cosmic floor from laughter by now. _

============

“...what a cruel joke.”

The hall of Dragonsreach went quiet. The voices that were previously shouting in argument were now silenced in surprise. Balgruuf’s brows furrowed, his blue eyes staring at the half-mer in front of him, confused.

“...excuse me, I don’t think I heard. What did you say, Drago--”

“**Don’t call me that.**” Two red eyes stared back at the Jarl, gleaming. The emotions in them were a whirlwind of distress, anger, and fear, and the girl’s body was noticeably shaking, fists clenched and knuckles white.

A man with his red warpaint and a greatsword strapped to his back was the first one to react. He crossed his arms, his lips pursed and his expression a frown.

“What are you talking about? Is… is there something wrong?”

“Something? **ALL** OF THIS IS WRONG!” Saya screamed stomped on the floor, the wooden planks whining under her boot. “I’m… what is this, even?! Dragonborn?! Hero of legend, shut up with that! You spout your instructions, you talk about how much of an honor this is - to wander up some gods-forsaken mountain and learn from some hermits before charging off to fight fire-breathing monsters?! I NEVER ASKED FOR THIS!”

Hrongar scowled. “You will accept it, elf.”

Saya spat. “Fucking make me.”

Shaking his head, Jarl Balgruuf stood up, walking towards her slowly. The Dunmer looked at him scornfully, all but assuming a battle stance. Her eyes were darting around, but all she could see were faces of disapproval and disappointment. He sighed.

“If the gods above chose you to be Dragonborn, then it is your duty to learn your gift and to use it for protecting the world. Without you, none of us stand a chance against the dragons.”The taller Nord stood next to Saya, and she looked at him like a starving stray cat would look at a wolf. He was solemn, but not hostile. Calm.

Everyone saw a warrior in her. Not him.

Slowly, her posture straightened. Her gaze lowered, unable to face anyone, and her arms hang powerlessly at her sides.

“...I didn’t ask for this. I just… I wanted to see where my dad was born. I... I wanted to live a normal life.”

Balgruuf’s gaze softened further. He could see she was scared. Scared of the power and responsibility that weighed on her, suddenly, pushing her down and crushing her.

“Normal lives are not meant for those who protect the lives of others.” Balgruuf said. He didn’t see a fighter. He saw only a scared girl who did not know what to do. 

“...we need you, Dragonborn. All of us do.” The Jarl said in a tone as soft as he could muster. His hand carefully touched her shoulder, squeezing it in reassurance.

The effect was opposite, as Saya’s eyes suddenly widened and her whole body flinched. Her mouth parted, a shocked gasp pulling in the air around her before suddenly, she let out an earth-shaking shout.

“**FUS**!”

A sickening snap echoed the hall, followed with a pained cry from the blue-eyed Nord, hand releasing her shoulder and recoiling. Hyperventilating and wide-eyed, Saya watched the Jarl of Whiterun fall to his knees, clutching his right arm as it hanged limply by his side. The shoulder was entirely dislocated and the forearm was savagely crushed, bending hideously in multiple spots as the wrist dangled by skin and muscle. Everyone in the room had unsheathed their weapons, guards surrounding the girl and Irileth putting her blade to her throat. Even Farengar dashed out of his study in surprise, hands sparking with arcane lightning.

“What do you think you’re doing?! You foolish wretch, you utter…!” The housecarl struggled to come up with curses, veins bulging under her skin and her head boiling with rage. Her hand wound back, preparing to slash her half-kin in a rush of anger, but a voice that came from behind had stopped her.

“Irileth… don’t.”

The housecarl looked at Balgruuf who stared back with a silent look. His body was twitching in pain, but his face was stoic. She recognized the look in his eyes - a look of a friend who was giving her advice, as well as a lord who was ordering his subordinate to obey. So she obeyed.

Her arm stopped midway, its owner sighing. As the anger in Irileth’s eyes gave way to worry, she sheathed her blade, holding Balgruuf up by his healthy arm and helping him stand up, trying not to react to the shaking half-elf behind them.

“I… I didn’t mean…!” Saya’s lips trembled, head shaking as she stepped back, chest heaving in shallow, fearful breaths. The fear turned into silent terror as she looked at Balgruuf approach her, still assisted by the female Dunmer who was glaring daggers at her, and she winced preemptively, preparing for a strike.

A strike that never came, as a large hand touched her head. Saya looked at Balgruuf, complete and utter bewilderment overflowing in her expression.

“...this is why you must learn how to control your power, Dragonborn. You are strong. The Greybeards will teach you to use that strength for good. To control it.” He said. His voice was quiet, pained, but void of malice. He was not mad. Sympathetic.

“I… I understand. I’m…” - the girl’s voice cracked. Tears were welling in the corners of her eyes. - “I’m sorry. Words cannot describe, I… I am so, so sorry.”

The Nord smiled. “Then speak with actions, Dragonborn. Go.”

Irileth looked around, her hand waving a signal for the guard to stand down and lower their weapons. Albeit begrudgingly, Hrongar also followed suit.

Saya rubbed her eyes as Balgruuf lowered his hand and, with assistance, hobbled over to sit down on his throne, nodding in the direction of the door. The half-elf bowed slightly, eyes closed, before turning around and hesitantly taking a step towards the exit. The guards all eyed her, expressions unreadable behind their identical helmets. With her gaze lowered, she stepped towards the great doors of Dragonsreach.

“I will not forget what you have done, Dragonborn.”

Saya flinched, a chill running down her spine, turning around to see Balgruuf watching her go. His right arm was carefully sitting on his lap, the violent contortions in it straightened as much as was possible without the presence of a healer. 

“The dragon you have killed was a great service to Whiterun, and to me.” Although his eyes were still in pain, his lips stretched into a genuine, warm smile. “Return soon, and I will be glad to greet you as a thane, and a friend.”

Another tear made its journey halfway down Saya’s cheek before she wiped it away and nodded with a smile of her own, all while pushing the gate to open it with her left shoulder.

“Alright. I will hold you to that promise, my Jarl.”

And then, the great doors closed, opening only many minutes later when the guards had sent for Danica at the Temple of Kynareth.

============

_ I was never a good liar. Never considered myself one, anyway. Balgruuf probably noticed that I never agreed to go to those… Greybeards. _

_ I don’t want this. I… I just want to see Markarth. Maybe buy a small home there. And never, ever leave. _

_ Yeah. That sounds nice. _

\------------------------

_ The journey to Markarth was not as long as I had expected. I traveled on foot but was still there by… I think 5 in the evening? Well, the stables, anyway. _

_ I made a small stop at Old Hroldan to have lunch. It’s a very nice inn: out in the hills, not too big, home-y feel. Even had a bit of a tourist attraction - for the same price as a regular room, you could rent the room Tiber Septim slept in when he was yet Hjalti Early-Beard, a general in service of king Cuhlecain of Falkreath. _

_ According to the Heresy anyway. Somehow it is always the unofficial versions that include the most interesting details. _

_ Regardless, the folk in the Reach seemed friendly enough. The guards were rather jumpy, though. Could never shake off the feeling of being watched. _

_ The forsworn were also a thing. A self-naming of native Reachmen, little more than barbarians now. Heard that some years ago, Ulfric Stormcloak used Thu’um to take Markarth from them, and now they’re out in the hills trying to retake it. _

_ With tribal armor made of hides and haphazard weaponry outta wood, stone and bone. _

_ Good luck with that. _

\------------------------

_ I take back everything I said or thought about Markarth being nice. _

_ Well, the city is. But the people… b’set, the people. Soon as I stepped foot into the fucking place, I barely had the time to blink as a man in front of me pulled out a dagger. He shrieked something about how the Reach belongs to the forsworn, and then dropped dead with an arrow in his neck by the time I could so much as grab the hilt of my sword. _

_ Then the guards swooped in and pushed everyone away. Saying “situation is under control”. _

_ Rubbish. _

_ I need a fucking drink… _

============

“Hello.”

A Breton woman, perhaps a little over 20 years of age, had carefully seated herself at a table of one. Saya looked up, squinting slightly. What she saw was a young face, not necessarily beautiful, but not strictly bad-looking either. She had tan skin and one grey eye, dark red warpaint adorning the other one, milky-white and pupilless.

“Don’t believe I’ve seen you around these parts before. First time in Markarth?” She inquired, a slight smile stretching the corners of her lips.

Saya’s eyes glinted for a moment, glaring at the uncalled visitor before she sighed and downed another tankard of mead. Eyes closed, she nodded before responding.

“...yeah. Not the friendliest welcome I’ve seen, either.” The half-elf muttered, frustration noticeable in her voice. Sighing, she slowly turned her head towards the person she was speaking to. “You always just chat up strangers in taverns?”

The stranger laughed softly, hand covering her mouth to restrain herself - an unintentional show of good manners. “Only the interesting ones. Are you an adventurer, by any chance?”

Saya looked over at the woman curiously, the mug halting partway towards her mouth. “What gave that away?” The tone was half-sarcastic, seeing as how she was still armored and with an enchanted longsword at her hip.

“Other than the obvious, you mean?” The Breton smirked, scooting a little closer towards the Dunmer. “You seem quite stressed. When people are nervous, their muscles can’t help but tense up… and I quite enjoy the tension I am seeing.”

Saya snorted into the mug, drinking the rest of her mead in one fell swoop. She was beginning to feel dizzy, so she looked into the woman’s eyes, squinting suspiciously, but at the same time allowing a small smile to find its way onto her lips.

“I see now. A mysterious girl looking for a snack after dinnertime?” Saya said, locking her fingers and resting her chin on them. “May I at least be graced with knowing the name of my seductress?”

The woman smiled and reached out to tap Saya’s nose with her finger.

“Eola.”

All of a sudden, everything felt off. Saya’s vision was blurry, her movement sluggish. Her tongue felt heavy inside her mouth, and every breath was heaving and tiring.

“And, for your information…” Eola continued, standing up and offering a hand to the half-elf. Saya’s mind was numb, she felt like she was watching herself move through a clouded window, absentmindedly taking the Breton’s hand and standing up.

“...I was hoping you’d be the full course.”

============

**Turdas, the 21st of Last Seed, 4E201**

============

_ I’m cold. _

Saya awoke lying on a carved stone table that extended into a sculpture. A lower jaw bared its granite fangs, acting as a stone bowl, and two bat-like wings stretched from its sides. Instead of a neck, at the base of the jaw was a stone forearm that fused into a wall, intricate carvings in daedric adorning it in swirling patterns.

“Dear guests, I welcome you! I am sure you have been waiting for the reclamation of our hall as impatiently as I was… join me in prayer, brothers and sisters, to thank our mistress for this meal!”

The half-elf’s ears caught the voices of half a dozen people, reciting a quiet prayer with Eola’s zealous voice taking the lead. Her eyes opened, seeing the wall behind her stretch and thicken into a rounder shape, almost akin to a pillar before becoming segmented, thin stone spikes imitating arthropod legs stretching towards her. Helming the statue was a humanoid face of a laughing hag, the visage carved in a deep indentation not unlike a spider’s head, peeking out from between its mandibles.

“--so this gift we present to you, o patron of the repulsive! In your name shall we carve, feast, and celebrate our return!”

“Cut! Cut! Cut! Cut!”

The echoing chanting filled the room, footsteps masked with the noise. Eola stepped towards the altar upon which Saya was placed, a wicked dagger of black ebony in her hands. With a few swift cuts, her fur vest was cut open, and then a sickening yellow-green glow clouded the metal as soon as it came into contact with Saya’s chainmail, cutting through it like a hot knife through butter. The Dunmer struggled not to tremble at the knife’s tip tickling her skin through the undershirt, trying to lay as still as she could, eyes just barely open to look for the right moment.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Eola licking her lips, grabbing the cut chainmail with her arms and opening it like one would a jacket. Underneath was a simple linen shirt, and behind it - nothing. No resistance. Only flesh.

“IN YOUR NAME WE FEAST, LADY NAMIRA!”

Eola shouted, raising her knife and pointing it downward at Saya’s heart. It began to beat faster. Panic was beginning to set in to the point where she did not feel afraid anymore. The girl’s chest expanded, drawing in a breath.

Her brain had gone into fight or flight. She had chosen fight.

“**FUS!**”

With a shrill scream and a disgusting snap, Eola dropped the blade and dropped onto her knees, clutching her arm. The cheers of guests turned into concerned shouts, seeing their hostess’s broken fingers and the wrist. Saya, meanwhile, stood up on the altar, grabbing her by the hair and slamming the Breton’s face into her knee, fingers lighting up in hot flame and charring the dirty blonde hair into an ashy black.

The half-elf girl’s eyes darted left and right, seeing two of the guests dressed in black robes with necromancer’s skulls painted on the chest rush to help their hostess. Her hand reached for the ebony dagger, grabbing it and jumping off the altar to step on Eola’s shattered fingers, stomping them into the stone floor and procuring another pained shriek from her. The Dunmer attempted to speak, seeing three familiar merchants dash out of the chamber, but to her own surprise, the only thing leaving her mouth was a pained, hoarse gasp.

“...you… you were supposed to-- ARGH!” Eola hissed, pain apparent in her voice as Saya grabbed hold of both of her arms and bent them behind her back, forcing the Breton to stand while using her as a meat shield. The other cultists, seeing the human woman forced into such a predicament, froze in their places as soon as the black blade in Saya’s hand poked into Eola’s neck, prodding the skin, just shy of breaking it.

“...you… will let me… leave.” The half-elf forced out, her grip around the Breton’s forearms tightening and sending heat through her skin, searing the muscle and producing another shriek from Eola.

“D-DO AS SHE SAYS! DO NOT ATTACK!” The Breton screamed, pulled by Saya, who was slowly walking around them towards the exit while the two conjurers clenched their fists, ice and lightning dissipating from their hands.

“B-but, Champion, are you--”

The pressure of the dagger on Eola’s neck grew just ever so slightly. “OBEY, YOU FOOLS!”

Eventually, Saya had reached the door, kicking it open. She turned slightly, seeing that the previous three had fled for good, and then nodded towards the cultists. “Thank you for your cooperation.” She said, her eyes wandering to notice her pack and sheathed sword sitting by a pillar near the door.

She grinned and looked back at the mages. “Have a nice meal."

The dagger sunk into Eola’s throat before she could say anything, only bloody gurgles leaving her lips. The two cannibals’ faces contorted into shock, preparing to cast their spells. Seeing that, the girl had instantly pushed the corpse onto one of them before another floor-rumbling shout had broken the other’s concentration. Then, with the moment’s distraction covering her back, Saya swiftly grabbed her equipment and fled, clutching her aching throat.

============

_ First gods, now daedra. I hate this. _

_ I hate _ <strike> _ hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate _ </strike> _ all of this, this city this province this gods-damned universe! _

_ Why me?! What did I do?! What offense did I perform in my hundred and ten years of life that insulted both the Nine and the Sixteen?! _

_ What did I do? What have I done? _

_ Where do I go? _

_ What do I do now? _

============

Saya’s shoulders were shaking, her sobs masked by the river flowing by her side. The sun was setting already, an entire day gone from her life, just like that. The journal has been lying by her side, receiving glares from its owner. By now Saya had sat down, leaning back onto a rock and hugging her knees.

She heard and read tales of heroes before. Glorious champions who wielded power none other could imagine. Revered, sometimes worshipped all over the world… and yet, was this what being a prophesied hero really like? Being hurt by your own power? Running away from responsibility out of fear for your own life?

Saya sighed, wiping the tears from her eyes. The backpack opened and the journal was placed inside, footprints left in the wet earth when the half-elf finally got up and started wandering in the direction of Old Hroldan.

============

**Fredas, the 22nd of Last Seed, 4E201**

============

_ The night at Old Hroldan was, comparably, much more pleasant to Whiterun or, Boethiah curse that place, Markarth. Despite not remembering anything of what happened yesterday except for the very late (and very stressful) evening, I felt… well, exhausted. Part of me is curious what is it that I did that made me so tired. Part of me hopes I never find out. _

_ What I did find is a ring in my backpack. One that I didn’t have before. It seemed to glow dull red when I touched it, but other than that it seemed just… ominous. _

_ I tossed it into the river. I don’t care that the Reclamations are all daedric princes, I’m staying as far away from Daedra as I possibly can. _

_ Now, the expected fun part - the morning was made less pleasant by the fact I woke up to the innkeeper screaming. _

============

“Eydis, is everything alright?” Saya opened the door out of the room she was renting - Tiber Septim’s room. She couldn’t help but give into the temptation last evening, so she figured if one is gonna sleep, they might as well sleep in a good bed.

The aforementioned Eydis, the innkeeper of Old Hroldan, did not respond - only pointed at a chair in the other end of the room.

Sitting on it was a ghost of a male warrior, arms crossed. Behind his back was a round shield, old nordic carvings pressed against the back of the chair. On his hip was a blade of very, very old design - not at all unlike that of the draugr. His armor appeared as a short-sleeved tunic made of deer hide, metal platings attached to the chest, hips, and shoulders. He did not appear to be wearing pants, instead opting for a long loincloth made of similar hide. The ghost’s hands were protected by fingerless gloves with metallic plating, and boots of similar design were on its feet. On his head was a metal helmet, two goat horns adorning its sides and curving towards his face, imitating tusks of a mammoth.

Saya grabbed her sword, drawing it and stepping out of the room, body shifting into a combat-ready stance. The apparition, on the other hand, seemed surprised, standing up from the chair swiftly and making its way towards her, passing through Eydis on its way.

_ “ Hjalti? Is… is that you? I have been waiting. For so long .” _

Saya pointed her blade at the ghost, but it seemed to pass through the blade unharmed, instead looking the half-elf in the eyes.

“Hjalti? Who…” The Dunmer stepped back, lowering her sword. Her face was oozing with confusion, she was struggling to think of a proper answer. “Who are you?”

The ghost tilted his head, sighing. _“_ _ Has it been that long? You promised me, Hjalti. You promised that when we sacked Hrol’dan, you’d make me your sworn brother. Don’t… don’t you remember me? ” _

Saya sheathed her sword, her face reflecting the sad bewilderment of the spirit before her. Somehow, in a bizarre way, she recognized him… but not in any way that’d help her realize who he is.

“You’re… you’re a warrior. You helped… you helped conquer this place, right?” She asked carefully, her words vague to not anger the man, but inquisitive enough to make him speak. Thankfully, they did their job.

_ “ Yes, Hjalti, yes. You do remember me! _ _”_ The spectre laughed, patting her on the shoulder. _“_ _ Oh, Hjalti, how I waited. Do you remember? The two long campaigns we served together, how you saved my life time and time again? And we promised here, many years ago. You promised that when Hrol’dan was ours, you’d give me your blade and we’d become brothers by oath. And I waited. ” _

Saya’s expression turned into a frown. Not one of displeasure, but… of sadness? “You… did? You waited for so long?”

_ “ Yes… I waited. Even after the enemy’s arrows sunk into my chest, and when their warhammers crushed my bones. I waited, still. I waited for you to come back. Please, Hjalti. _ _”_ The ghost put both of its hands on Saya’s small shoulders, holding them tightly. _“_ _ I cannot go to battle without a sword. Give me your blade, Hjalti. So that we may become brothers, as you promised. ” _

The Dunmer’s gaze wandered, thinking. She looked at the arms of the man, full of strength. Not a boy, but not yet old. A seasoned warrior. She looked at his armor, chipped and damaged. Blades and arrows alike were deflected by the plates, but, as the ghost himself said - it could not protect him forever.

Last, she looked at his face. His eyes were sad. His expression was tired. Pained. Her red eyes locked with his, and for just a moment, he seemed familiar. Brown eyes. Long, light blonde beard with a matching mustache. Barely noticeable scar on his cheek.

From when... we were training together.

“...okay. Just… allow me a day with it, old friend. The blade served me well, I hate to part with it so suddenly. Tomorrow morning, it will be yours.” She said, quietly, lowering her head. The ghost smiled.

_ “ I long to taste battle again, at your side. ‘Til morrow, then. _ _”_ With those parting words, the ghost had vanished. Saya’s head bowed down, taking a deep breath to calm herself. Turning to her side, she saw a small boy next to the innkeeper, his mother, clutching her skirt.

“So… what just happened?”

============

_ The ghost called me Hjalti. _

_ Hjalti Early-Beard. The birth name of Tiber Septim. The one mentioned in The Arcturian Heresy. _

_ But why me? Is it because I’m Dragonborn, too? Did that person mistake me for him because of it? _

_ I’m… I’m not sure what to make of it. But somehow, I recognized him. It didn’t… feel right to refuse him. Even if I’m not Hjalti, I felt… guilty. He waited too long to be left with nothing. _

_ I asked around. The sword he was talking about was last seen in the hands of Forsworn at a camp near Hag Rock. Should be three, maybe four hours of travel. _

_ Should head out. Daylight is short and valuable here, I notice. _

\------------------------

_ Holding the sword that belonged to Tiber Septim himself… never would’ve thought I’d see the day. _

_ It was a simple weapon. Straight blade, slight ridges at the very end to resemble a feather. The metal looked to be iron, but it was hard to tell. There was also a silver-like lining, with “flowy” nordic patterns adorning the area around the fuller - I think these were made from Molybdenum. Wouldn’t make sense to have them made out of silver, compromising integrity and all that. _

_ The rain guard was pointed, like a triangle with curved sides and a pointed vertices. The cross-guard was rather thick and bent upwards at an obtuse angle. It was, again, black and adorned with nordic carvings. _

_ The handle was a weird one - it was obviously too long to be one handed, but the length of the blade wasn’t quite long enough to make it into a two-hander. I can only guess that old Tiber wanted the weapon to have some versatility. It was bound with some kind of dyed leather, red-brown in color. At the end was a circular pommel - clearly meant for decoration rather than use. It was a cylinder that expanded outward, and at the very end was a round ruby. _

_ Not sure what else I expected from the weapon an Emperor would wield, but… it was good. Heavy in my hands, but very… comfortably so. _

_ I think I’ll sleep in one of the tents. I’d rather spend the night here than in Markarth. _

============

**Loredas, 23rd of Last Seed, 4E201**

============

“_ Hjalti? You’re back? _”

A ghastly voice called out into the still-dark hills outside of Old Hroldan inn, its old, ethereal eyes spotting what no normal mortal could in such lighting. Saya’s silhouette stepped along the beaten path, lowering the hood and giving the spectre a smile.

“Was hoping to catch you sleeping.” - she said, snickering, - “Did you wait all this time for me to come back?” The half-elf stepped towards the ghost, her smiling features now visible in the pale blue light emanating from the old warrior.

The ghost returned the smile, scratching at his bearded chin. “_ Of course. Have you forgotten our teacher’s lesson? Never sleep without an ally to watch your back. _ ” His eyes then lowered to the blade on her hip. “ _ Ah… Stormblade. Feels like I’ve last laid eyes upon it just a few moments ago _ … _ but as if an eternity passed between that moment and now. _ ” - the ghost chuckled, - “ _ I must be getting old. _”

Saya laughed, taking the sword into her hands and giving it a long look. She extended her arms, offering the blade to the warrior in front of her. He did not move, however, instead giving her a smirk.

“_ Your eyes show that you don’t want to part with it yet. _ ” - he said, reaching for his own sword and unsheathing it, - “ _ Remember our lessons from the masters back in Alcaire? Let us see if you’re not gone rusty with that old thing, haha! _”

Saya smirked, gripping the Stormblade’s hilt and shifting herself into a battle stance. “Very well. First blood or disarmed.” She said, before lunging at the ghost.

The minute they spent in battle felt like a year, almost. The spectre’s movement were refined and precise. Lacking the flourish and impact of Saya’s wide swings, he instead was as efficient as possible in his practiced, quick stabs.

For a moment, Saya could swear she saw it again. The ghost, but younger. Alive. In his hands, a wooden blade. His blonde hair short, and his chin adorned with a stubble, barely noticeable in the bright midday sun. He wore a blue, loose tunic and simple white pants with boots of light brown leather. She blinked, stepping back. Her own hands fell into her view - but different. The fingers were longer, the forearms were more veiny and not as thin. The skin was pale, and there were undeniably small brown hairs growing from it. They were male.

Around the two, greenery was overflowing. Stone walls surrounded them, the floor of marble adorning a small courtyard. Beside them, an older Breton man, his black hair giving way to the white of age. Stroking his beard, he watched the combat with a proud smile. A teacher’s smile.

Another blink, and it was gone. She was back in Skyrim, the night sky as dark as ever, but just as bright with the light of stars. The man charged at her, his arm extended in a thrust.

Her reaction was fluent, practiced. Half a step to the right, and a step to the back. The warrior stumbled towards her, and Stormblade switched hands, held now in her left instead of her right. With one strike away from her, she caught his blade by the crossguard. With a sideways yank, she pulled the blade out of his grasp. With an upwards swing, she sent the ethereal sword flying behind herself. Her right hand placed on the opponent’s shoulder, she pushed, tripping him with her left foot. With a loud thud, he landed - and his eyes opened to see Stormblade pointed at his neck.

“Looks like I win again, brother.” She said, stabbing the blade into the ground and offering him a hand with a smile. The ghost grabbed her forearm and stood up, a grin on his aged features.

“_ Indeed. You were always master’s favorite. _” His fingers wrapped around Stormblade’s handle, attempting to get the weapon out of the earth. Instead, however, an ethereal form resembling it was pulled out of the sword, the ghost holding it in his hands and giving it a long, content look before placing it in his sheath.

He stood on one knee, then, and bowed his head.

“_ It is an honor to fight by your side, brother Hjalti. _ ” - he looked up, then, his ethereal blue eyes looking at her, - “ _ Or, I suppose… the men call you Talos now, don’t they? _”

And with those words, the man faded away, dissolving into soft, azure light that dispersed into the morning air. Behind him, the sky was turning a fiery orange, following the bright, rising sun.

============

_ I have decided. _

_ As I am writing this, I am no longer at Old Hroldan. I am at the Vilemyr inn, located in the small village of Ivarstead. Just three, four minutes of walking away from me is the foot of the Throat of the World, the mountain upon which High Hrothgar - the Greybeards’ monastery - is built. _

_ I have heard stories before. Of Talos Stormcrown, the great conqueror of all of Tamriel, who tore down walls with mere words he uttered, and whose breath reshaped old Cyrodiil from deep, lush jungle into warm, temperate forests and hills of today. A hero with blood of the dragons in his veins. _

_ And now, an ally of his had mistaken me for him. Another Dragonborn. Another one who possesses the Voice. _

_ Now, I am not one for fate. I’d like to think that my actions always carry weight. That it is my decisions that made me end up where I am. But, if Akatosh really did decide to give me this power of old heroes… then, well, if it’s not fate, then it’s my duty to master them. _

_ I thought about the black dragon today, while traveling. I passed by Helgen. It was still smoking, albeit very faintly. I didn’t want to think of all the lives lost in there, of all the families that burned helplessly because nobody was there to protect them. _

_ But I did. So I decided. _

_ If I really am Dragonborn, then I’ll protect them. If I am capable of things that I do, but I run away from them - and in those days I spend on pitying myself, innocent lives are lost - they are lost because of me. So I won’t let it happen again. _

_ I swear by my name. _

_ Saya Indoril, the Dragonborn of the 4th Era. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:  
1\. The song that the Dunmer bandit sang is a snippet of the Red Mountain Drinking Song from Elder Scrolls Online:  
https://en.uesp.net/wiki/Lore:Red_Mountain_Drinking_Song  
2\. "B'vek" is a Dunmer expression, a shortened version of "By Vehk". "B'set" is, respectively, "By Seht".  
3\. "Drakes" are the Dunmer name for Septims, otherwise known as gold.  
4\. The lore of Hjalti Early-Beard being the true name of a Breton later known as Tiber Septim (as well as his birthplace and service to king Cuhlecain of Falkreath) is referenced in the in-game book, Arcturian Heresy:  
https://en.uesp.net/wiki/Lore:The_Arcturian_Heresy  
5\. Stormblade's appearance is based off the Breton Style weaponry in Elder Scrolls Online with some changes to fit the lore. The name, "Stormblade", was inspired by the highest rank one can acquire during the Stormcloak questline - Stormblade. It would make sense if Ulfric knew his history and named the rank after the weapon of Talos himself.


	2. Notes

** _Notes on the Lunar Weapons:_ **

  * The enchantment appears to be “nocturnal”. During the day, it doesn’t have any effect, however with every three hours past sundown it seems to become more powerful, peaking at midnight.
  * At three in the afternoon, the weapon emits a slight magical light, but otherwise does not show any effects.
  * At six in the evening, the weapon’s edges emit a bright glow upon impact, displaying the effects of a unique enchantment, likely based on the basic fire effect - the effect is instantaneous, unlike fire (which takes some time for the flames to deal any real damage to the target), sending a hot ache into the spot of impact, but not actually radiating heat.
  * At nine in the evening, the weapon glows when swung, and the damaging effects of it rise in intensity - the amount of pain is noticeably larger, and it almost seems to travel through the body with the blood stream (possible interaction with metal inside the body?).
  * At midnight, the weapon emits a blinding light (akin to a torch) when swung, and even when simply held it seems to mimic faint moonlight, the brightness similar to a candle. The enchantment’s painful effects now seem to spread through the entire body, similar to a shock spell. However, again, the effect does not emit any heat, so the wounds created by it are not cauterized.
  * The “midnight phase” seems to only last for an hour, after which the effects will rapidly diminish, becoming completely null by 7 in the morning.

** _Notes on dragons:_ **

  * Before breathing fire, both the black dragon and the one at the tower had taken an amount of time to take a deep breath and dig their claws into whatever they could hold onto. Could be a good moment to get up close.
  * Standing right under it seems to be a blind spot for most attacks. Getting close enough to the dragon while it prepared a shout made it noticeably inconvenienced - the one at the watchtower had to let out its breath before awkwardly flapping its wing to knock the opponent away or take flight (could be vulnerable to their own shouts?). 
  * The bones appear to be very hard and rigid, but can be chiseled and bent very, very slightly if a lot of heat is applied (borrowing the Skyforge while Eorlund wasn’t working, its heat was just barely enough to notice the effect). Shaping proves to be difficult unless using instruments made out of something like ebony. My iron chisel bent and broke when I tried chipping away at one of the shoulder blades.
  * The scales are very flexible, but also durable. The ones on the snout, forehead, and back were the most rigid while the ones on the underbelly and neck bent very well and could probably be used for joints. Most of them burned away when the dragon died, but maybe carving them off a living specimen would preserve the material. Softest spots to pierce are most likely the underside of the jaw, neck and belly. Possibly the insides of the thigh, as well.
  * The wing membrane can be cut, but with a lot of difficulty - cutting through it is about as easy as carving through two layers of studded leather with a dull dagger. Would do well for a cloak, if possible to acquire.
  * The bones are INCREDIBLY heavy and completely solid on the inside. Other than the impressive wingspan, flight was probably achieved through magical means. Would not be surprised, though.

** _Magical interactions:_ **

  * Contact forms of the same spells appear to have their effects amplified greatly. Applying a basic Flames spell in direct contact with a standard steel ingot (5 pounds give or take) for approximately ten seconds was enough to make it turn red. The spells also appear to create a small layer around the caster’s hand to protect them from the effect. While I was heating up the ingot, I did not feel any heat. Touching it after the fact, however, instantly resulted in a burn.
  * Healing spells have problems with mending burns.
  * Healing does still leave scars (not tested with more advanced healing spells).

** _Shout notes:_ **

  * Shouting hurts.
  * Using a Shout with different volume seems to change the scale of its effects. Testing on a 30ft tall tree: Whispering the word “Fus” created a small wind that ruffled its leaves. Speaking the word at a normal conversation volume shook its branches. Shouting the word resulted in one of the branches snapping and getting launched a foot or two into the air before falling back down.
  * Addendum: shouting doesn’t just hurt, it can cause internal damage. Immediately after using a shout, I was unable to speak at a volume greater than a whisper - and even then, my voice was very hoarse. The cannibal cult incident resulted in me needing to use a healing spell on myself to heal my throat, as immediately after running out I almost doubled over and coughed up a small amount of blood.
  * Do **not** overuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These notes are made by Saya in a separate journal. She keeps three total: one "diary", one task/quest journal, and a smaller one for notes.
> 
> These notes will be used as a way of explaining things that are altered in the story from how they were in the game, or for answering questions.


	3. First Encounters

============

**Sundas, the 24th of Last Seed, 4E201**

============

_ Morning in Ivarstead was as peaceful as one can imagine. Since there aren't many things to explore in the immediate vicinity, there were no visitors in the tavern to wake me up early, so I could take my sweet time getting out of bed. A glass of wine in the morning with some meat pie was just wonderful and honestly almost made me want to go back to sleep.  _

_ Instead, a passing conversation caught my attention. Some guards on their time off were talking about some crypt just east of the village. Now normally this wouldn't be anything to write home about, but what caught my attention is the fact that an  _ _ elven _ _ ghost was haunting the  _ _ Nordic _ _ crypt. I asked the innkeeper, Wilhelm, if the place had any visitors of the adventurous type, and he told me that a few boasting youngsters did try tackling the dungeon. However, none of them had it in them to go up against a ghost once they actually saw it, so all of them turned tail at the first opportunity.  _

_ Damn shame. A bit of recon goes a long way. _

_ I told Wilhelm I'd take care of it. He did give me a look, but I didn't really let it bother me. People tend to underestimate anyone who claims to be a capable fighter if you’re not a 6' Nord with more scars than skin and a giant two hander strapped to your back. _

_ Gotta love them, these Skyrim stereotypes.  _

\------------------------

_ I have a few questions for Wilhelm and I doubt he’ll answer them, but by the gods do I want to ask them. _

_ For one, the ghost was not a ghost at all: rather, a bandit masquerading as one - two bottles of the concoction he used to keep up the image are currently safe and sound in my bag. Maybe one day they’ll find a proper use. _

_ Secondly, after providing the charlatan’s journal to Wilhelm, my reward was… a dragon claw. Specifically the one fitting Shroud Hearth’s claw door. On top of that, the claw was the very reason Wyndelius - the alchemist bandit in question - had ventured out into the barrow in the first place. _

_ I’ll keep exploring the barrow, but I am not sure what to make of Wilhelm now. He’s definitely more knowledgeable about this than he lets on. _

_ What is it with Skyrim and having to watch your back in bloody  _ _ inns _ _ ? _

_ I think the High Hrothgar climb will be delayed for tomorrow. Don’t know how long I’ll be up there for, and I don’t like leaving things unfinished. _

\------------------------

_ I’ll be keeping the claw as a memento. I have gotten through the barrow without much trouble - much to my disappointment (and relief), there wasn’t really a grand general at the end of it who was capable of shouting. Instead, I went through an onslaught of weaker foot soldiers. _

_ There was one guy who was buried in the center, I guess, but he wasn’t much different from the rest of them. It was like… if Bleak Falls was an army and a general, then these were a squad of guards and the big guy was their captain. Sure, impressive relatively, but not enough to make a difference objectively. _

_ I’ve gotten a little more used to wielding Stormblade. I think I got the trick on how to use it effectively - the handle is long to create more impact when thrusting or swinging. If you hold it with both hands and cut, then you have what is a pretty normal, albeit kind of short, greatsword. If you hold it with both hands and use it to thrust, then you have yourself a decent pike. And if you use it one-handed, you have a longsword with great reach which can chop things up no worse than a war-axe. _

_ I resorted to using the last variant, mostly. May or may not include some jumps and flips later - I  _ _ really _ _ want to find out if this thing can chop a guy in two. _

_ I haven’t been able to identify any enchantments on it, sadly. Recharging it with a soul didn’t work either - the soul didn’t have anywhere to go, so I just ended up breaking a soul gem for nothing. _

_ I dug up a few of the scrolls I had on me from home, of the ‘paralyze rune’ sort. I’ll try to learn the spell eventually, but it’ll do for now. I’ll set one on my room door just in case. _

_ Tomorrow, High Hrothgar. _

============

**Morndas, the 25th of Last Seed, 4E201**

============

The howling of wind outside became muffled and quiet, iron doors shielding the half-elf from the climate when she stepped inside the temple. The air was still, and warm. There was a very faint scent of snow, cut grass, and ashen wood, all accompanied by the arid heaviness of scattered dust.

The view that greeted her was a scarcely decorated room with six braziers full of burning charcoal, one mounted on a simplistically carved pillar, the other - on a raised platform in between two stairways leading to the other side. The other four rested at the bases of archways that adorned the hall, the shape mimicking that of dragon heads lowered towards the floor, staring down at the light sources in front of them. From the ceiling hung banners with inscriptions in the same runic language, giving the room a colder hue with the blue lining of the cloth.

While her body was still getting used to the sudden shift in temperature, Saya had noticed footsteps resounding from within the hall. Although failing not to flinch, the Dunmer managed to suppress her reflex of reaching for her weapon’s hilt, taking a deep breath to calm down. She did not know these Greybeards, who they actually are, and how they would treat her. It never hurt to be careful with the unknown.

But taking in the fact that, to them, she is currently nothing but an intruder, she decided it’d be unwise to show any kind of aggression or hostility in front of a group that can tear her apart by uttering a few words.

As she thought of that, the figure to whom the footsteps belonged had entered the main hall. He was wearing rather large grey robes that left his hands and feet barely visible. His head was covered by a hood, only showing a small portion of a long, grey beard, the end of which was tied into a simple knot.

“So, at this moment in the turning of age, a stranger walks into our halls. Speak. What are you looking for within our walls, uninvited and unwelcome?” The voice was quiet, but with a warning tone to it. It was the voice of an old man. One whose aged body did not do justice to his strength of will and air of authority.

Saya did not miss the notions within his tone and bowed respectfully, arms at her sides. “I am the Dragonborn. I am here to answer your summons.”

The corners of the old sage’s mouth curled slightly, forming a barely noticeable smile. The cloth on his arms shifted as he raised a hand.

_ “Bo het.” _ He said, and the stone walls reverberated, his voice traveling through them. Soon, three more arrived - dressed in the same robes, their faces covered with hoods, and their only discerning feature being a grey beard, barely visible from under the shade. “First, let us see if you truly are Dragonborn. Let us taste of your Voice.” For a moment, Saya’s face contorted into hesitation and discomfort, opening her mouth to protest, but she was interrupted before any words were said: “Do not fear. Everyone here has dedicated their lives to studying the power you claim to possess. It will not harm us.”

A defeated sigh left Saya’s mouth. She already understood that, but the experience with Balgruuf still lingered painfully in her mind. Thus, she opted for an alternative: instead of shouting, the girl said the only word she knew in a volume just above regular conversation.

_ “Fus”.  _ The breath that left her body impacted the Greybeard, raising the flaps of cloth on him and momentarily pushing him. But unlike her expectation of him stumbling back, he simply took the entirety of the impact, stoic and silent. That is, until he looked up at her proper for the first time, revealing his face. Wrinkles on pale skin, a large nose, shade-covered azure eyes, all accented with a warm smile.

“Dragonborn. Welcome to High Hrothgar.” He bowed as the other monks approached him, mirroring the gesture. Saya had, again, returned the greeting. “I imagine you have questions. Voice them.”

The half-elf’s weight shifted to one leg, a lack of assurance apparent in her posture. “If I may… I have only heard of your order in passing, relying on second-hand knowledge gathered from those around me. Who, exactly, are you?” She asked, eyes wandering over the other Greybeards. The master in front of her nodded in understanding.

“We are the Greybeards, followers of the Way of the Voice. I am master Arngeir, and I speak for all of us. Here, on the slopes of the Throat of the World, our founder, Jurgen Windcaller, had first built this monastery, known now as High Hrothgar. In this place, we commune with the sky, practice the ancient art of the Voice, and strive to achieve a balance between our inner and outer selves.” He gestured to the others, introducing them one by one. “These ones’ names are master Borri, master Wulfgar, and master Einarth. But I advise against attempting conversation with them. If you have any questions, I shall answer them as best as I can.”

Saya nodded, humming in thought. The other Greybeards all gestured to her in greeting as they were introduced, so she made some mental notes to remember who is who in case it was ever needed.

“Ah, pardon me. My name is Saya, of house Indoril.” She introduced herself hastily, mentally cursing for not doing so earlier. “But… excuse me, why shouldn’t I talk to the others?”

Arngeir did not respond, but the three did. Each one of them whispered their name, barely audible.

_ “Zu’u Borri.” _

_ “Zu’u Wulfgar.” _

_ “Zu’u Einarth.” _

With every whisper, every word that left their lips, the monastery was shaking and trembling under their feet. The mountain itself seemed to quiver at their speech, and Saya had to cover her ears, her skull throbbing from the noise.

“Their Voices are too powerful for someone untrained in the Way to withstand. So much as speaking to them could kill you, if you’re not careful.” Arngeir explained, unaffected by the power of the others. “Of all of us here, I am the eldest - my own Voice is not as potent as it used to be, but I have full control of it. Thus, I assume the duty of speaking in their stead.”

“...okay.” She muttered, still a bit shocked. This was the Voice of a person who trained it… and none of them are Dragonborn, either. Her emotions were split between amazement and fear.

“Is there anything else you would like to know, then?” Arngeir asked, with idle patience. Saya’s thoughts branched out rapidly, thinking of all the things to ask, but in the end she only shook her head in response.

“It can wait. I have a more… pressing concern.” Her hand lifted to touch her throat. “The Voice is… painful to use. It is too strong for me to control. I want you to teach me how to use it.”

The Greybeards exchanged a glance before Arngeir spoke again: “Very well. Then let us see if you have the discipline to master this gift you’ve been given.”

============

_ They Greybeards turned out to be rather strict, but kind. Arngeir had patiently led me through the process of learning Shouts while explaining the fundamentals of how they work. _

_ Shouting, or Thu’um in the dragon language, is a form of exerting your will on the world. By speaking words in the dragon language, their meaning becomes a command, shaping the world around it. All Shouts are made up of three Words of Power. The first one determines the nature of the Shout, while the following two amplify its effects. _

_ As a demonstration, Master Einarth taught me the word “Ro”. He whispered it at the floor, and a carving of the symbols appeared. _

_ When I touched it, the same thing happened as I experienced in Bleak Falls: I felt a wave of force wash over me, but this time I wasn’t pushed back. It was almost like a breeze that… curled around me. Held me in place. _

_ Then, Einarth locked eyes with me, and I felt a pulse drumming in my ears. Energy, not unlike the light I saw from the dragon, flowed towards me from him. It was… like seeing a vision, almost. _

_ “Balance” is what “Ro” meant. An unshakeable mountain, not even bulging at the worst of storms. A passive reaction to an aggressive action. A force exerted to resist the force absorbed.  _

_ The force was… me. _

_ Using a Shout of their own, each of the monks had summoned an ethereal copy of themselves to test me. I combined the two words, “Fus” and “Ro”. The force wave that came out seemed much… wider. Stronger. And better yet, I didn’t even bulge at it! Previously, I had to fight to keep my footing, not to fall over, but now… I didn’t even feel affected by it. _

_ The strain on my throat stayed, of course. It was a bit difficult to speak, and for even longer than before - but the pain was much more bearable. Good to know I won’t go mute, at least. _

_ Well, not yet, anyway. _

============

The air seemed to almost pull the heat from Saya’s body as soon as she stepped outside. Gods, it was cold up here - she could only wonder if the Greybeards even felt it after spending so much time on the mountain. Her boots sank into the snow, taking small steps to follow the monks.

The courtyard was wide and spacious, limited all around by the mountain’s own relief except on two sides: the monastery on the west side and what looked like a large archway leading upwards on the southeast. What caught her attention was a large metal gate, built at the very northern edge and seemingly serving no purpose. Behind it was an open view of Skyrim, as it led to no building. The half-elf’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“Now, Dragonborn,” Arngeir spoke up, pulling the girl out of her chain of thought, “we will see how you learn a completely new Shout.”

“A different one? How many are there?” Saya scratched the back of her head. While she did realize there were likely many forms of Thu’um, she didn’t expect to encounter them so soon into her training.

Arngeir closed his eyes, humming. “There are as many Shouts in existence as there are combinations of words in the dragon language. While we cannot teach them all to you, it is our duty to guide you towards mastering it in ways we may not be capable of.” His arm moved, gesturing towards the monk beside him. “This Shout is called Whirlwind Sprint. Master Borri will teach you its first word: ‘Wuld’.”

_ “Wuld.” _ The Greybeard’s whisper had shaped the earth in front of him, drawing out the rune-like letters on the ground. Hesitantly, Saya approached the word and placed her hand on it.

A gust of wind blew in her direction. A sensation of being swept off her feet took over her mind. Weightless and quick - like a sudden breeze during a sunny day. Just as fleeting as it is exhilarating.

And then, it was gone. Just like in Bleak Falls Barrow.

Arngeir seemed to smile under his hood. “Good. You learn quickly. Approach Master Borri so that he can grant you his knowledge of ‘Wuld’.”

Nodding, the Dunmer stood up to her feet. She looked at Borri, who seemed to look at her attentively. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she locked her red eyes with his, blue and aged. Suddenly, she felt a pull. Just like a few minutes earlier at the monastery, a string of light had begun to slowly weave itself from his soul, reaching for hers. Then another. And another. And yet another. Soon, hundreds of little strings were reaching for her.

Mentally, Saya began to search for the feeling she had felt just now. That wind, that lightness, that swift pull. The light had swirled around her as her eyes closed, flowing into the body and fusing with it.

And then it disappeared in a single instant as her eyes opened with a flash and her lips mouthed a word.

“Whirlwind. That is the meaning, right?” Her hair ruffled slightly in the mountainous breeze as she asked Borri. The man nodded quietly. “Then… what do I do now?” This time, the question was addressed to Arngeir.

“Now, you will show us how quickly you can master the Shout after learning its meaning.” The Master began walking in the direction of the seemingly useless gate, with another monk - Wulfgar, if memory served - standing beside him. “Master Wulfgar will demonstrate his mastery of Whirlwind Sprint. Then, it will be your turn. Master Borri, if you would?”

Borri gave Arngeir an understanding nod and, in a louder whisper, said:  _ “Bex”.  _ All of a sudden, the gate opened, and without missing a beat Wulfgar had followed it up with a shout of his own:

_ “WULD, NAH KEST!” _

Saya could have sworn that Wulfgar was standing right beside Arngeir just a moment ago. In the blink of an eye, his body had completely vanished, and a strong gust of wind blew in the direction of the gate. When she opened her eyes, he was already standing behind the gate, his robes flapping in the wind as though he came to a halt from a very high speed. Then, as if nothing had happened, he had turned around and walked back to Arngeir, giving him a small bow.

“Now it is your turn, Dragonborn.” Saya’s nose twitched slightly at the title. “Stand next to me. Master Borri will open the gate again, and it will be your task to use Whirlwind Sprint to pass through before it closes.”

“W-wait, I’m not sure if I still got it, do I get to--”

_ “Bex.”  _ The word echoed again, and the gates had opened with an unpleasant creak. Saya could hear her own heartbeat reverberating in her ears, her eyes widening. She didn’t have time to look - it was so fast! She couldn’t do it, she wasn’t even given a minute to try it out!

Her eyes locked at the sky behind the gate. It had just begun to slowly close.

_ No, wait! Just slow down!... slow down? _

_ ...that’s right. Slow down. Focus... remember the wind. Remember it carrying you. Remember how it gradually picks up and just as gradually slows down. Remember its name. _

_ Whirlwind. _

“ **WULD** !”

Suddenly, the weight she didn’t even notice was on her shoulders had vanished. She felt light, completely weightless, even. She could no longer feel her freezing fingertips, or her pulsing ears, or her striking heartbeat. But she could see the view in front of her, getting closer rapidly.

Right before her, the gates shut. Yet she didn’t feel an impact. Momentarily, her vision was blocked by the metal, but she was not impeded by it. Circling, weaving, flowing through the smallest openings, she found the skies before her again.

Stumbling, she felt herself land and become whole, bearing the weight of her own body again. With a held breath, she saw the clouds moving in the distance before her, passing through the distant mountains to the sound of the White River splashing beneath.

She turned around, and even from behind the closed gate, Arngeir’s astonished expression didn’t fail to bring a smile to her own face.

“That was amazing!” She shouted, pushing open the door before bursting into a fit of coughing, a hand covering her mouth. Now that the initial fear of using the shout had worn off, it was replaced with excitement of having a new ability to… well, to toy with, at least for the first few hours.

“...I would have to agree.” Arngeir said, once the initial astonishment had worn off. He had interlocked his fingers, letting the robes cover them while he regained his composure. “I… I had heard stories of the abilities of Dragonborn, but to see it first-hand is… astonishing.”

Saya stopped in her tracks, her head tilting in confusion. “It… is? I thought this is more or less how it went for you, too. Is… is that wrong?”

Arngeir let out a half-sad laugh, shaking his head. “No, not at all. What mastery of the Voice we possess is the result of many decades of studying and meditation. This ability to master it so quickly is a gift unique to you, the Dragonborn, as well as the dragons themselves. Tell me, Dragonborn, do you understand why is it that you learn Shouts so easily?”

Saya shook her head. She had been meaning to ask for an explanation ever since she was taught “Ro”, but she did not want to interrupt the lesson for it.

“As you already know, Thu’um is the act of speaking words in dovahzul - the dragon tongue. To the dragons themselves, that ability of speaking is inborn. It was a tool given to them to rule over those lesser than themselves. And to control their more… chaotic brethren, they were given another ability. One you have already made use of twice now.”

Saya touched her own chest, recalling the way that light seemed to flow into it from the other Greybeards. The recollection was almost identical to the way that… she devour the dragon’s soul.

“Do you mean the way I devour dragon souls?”

“Precisely.” The Greybeard said. “Dragons have the ability to consume the souls of their fallen brethren to make themselves stronger. That is why you can learn Thu’um at such astonishing speeds - unlike mortals, you need not meditate upon the words of power to understand them. The dragon soul within your body allows you to directly absorb that knowledge from fallen dragons, as well as from us, should we offer it.”

“...so what you’re saying is… I’m a dragon?”

He smiled. “If a dragon needed to call another dragon, they would use a Shout. The dragon, whether it wants to or not, would hear that Shout from anywhere in the world. That Shout is the dragon’s name. Now, do you remember the words you have heard echoing from our mountain? They, too, are words of power - the words that form your dragon name.”

============

_ “Dov-Ah-Kiin”. Dragonkind-Hunter-Born. Born of dragonkind, to kill dragonkind… Almost a bit sad, if you think about it that way. _

_ I talked to Arngeir for a while longer, asking him questions about the Way of the Voice and whatnot. As a last test, he had given me the task of retrieving the horn of Jurgen Windcaller from his tomb in Ustengrav, just on the edge between Hjaalmarch and The Pale. Some sort of ritual of entrance… not a fan of the cold, I’ll admit, but I suppose it’s not a thing I can just ignore. _

_ I’ll be heading to Whiterun tomorrow. I’ll spend the night at the monastery, I feel rather… safe here. Most certainly safer than anywhere below. Then, we’ll see how far I can get. _

============

**Turdas, the 26th of Last Seed**

============

_ I woke up early today. The morning practice of the Greybeards outside served as an effective, if horrifying, clock. I think they used some kind of shout to dissipate the clouds in the sky - might have to ask Arngeir about that later. _

_ The trip down to Ivarstead was much faster than the other way. The sun had just barely reached midday by the time I finished my breakfast. I made a quick stop at Darkwater Crossing and had a nice chat with the locals. When asked for work, they pointed me in the direction I was already heading - supposedly the old outpost known as Valtheim Towers was recently taken over by bandits and now the workers have no way of transporting their ore to Whiterun, instead having to head all the way to Riften where they get severely undercut. I told them I’d take care of it. _

_ And, well, I did. _

============

Eight. That’s how many there were - at least, that’s what Saya could gather after an hour or so of watching the bandit camp go about its business: one was patrolling the bridge; three lookouts: one per tower, then one sitting on the other side of the river, looking out for anyone seeking passage; one more standing watch on the road and performing the shakedowns; two more sitting in the northern tower; and, lastly, a leader whose position was unknown.

After recounting the information in her head, the Dragonborn gathered her wits and approached the one on the road. It was a Redguard woman, face adorned with red and white warpaint - a tribal design, probably to make her look more menacing - and a hefty axe behind her back. As soon as the Dunmer got close, she heard the bandit’s voice:

“Hold it there, friend.” Her brows furrowed, forming a threatening expression quite familiar to anyone who ever got mugged on the road - one of poisonous malice that is very, very thinly veiled with a tone of friendliness. “This is a toll road you’re crossing, and I say you pay up if you don’t want to get into any trouble. ‘s not much - a hundred gold, and off you go on your merry way.”

Saya raised her hands, as if in surrender. “Well this is quite sudden. I’ve been traveling around these parts often, didn’t think the Jarl’s men had any interest in this place.”

“And what’d I ever say about being Jarl’s men? Jarl’s men are kind protectors of this hold, and they get locked up or reduced in pay if they treat folks too roughly. Now me, on the contrary…” The woman’s hand went up to the axe behind her back, grabbing the staff but not yet pulling it out. “I get paid to treat overly talkative folk like you roughly. Now, hand over the coin.”

Saya dropped the pretense of being afraid right that instant, sighing and reaching into her pouch. A wide, pleased grin began stretching across the bandit’s features. The Dunmer murmured something incoherent, cursing quietly. “Ugh, miss…?”

The Redguard’s smile vanished, returning to the hostile scowl from before. “What is it?”

“I’m… a little short.” Saya said. Her left hand’s fingers were still moving, searching through the pouch - a bottomless pouch, with a hole in the bottom for Saya to slowly and inconspicuously wrap her hand around the handle of Stormblade. “Would 90 be enough?”

The bandit groaned, taking a step towards the increasingly infuriating Dunmer and reaching out. “Just hand it over already!”

With a whistle, the sword was freed from its sheath. From right to left, Saya’s hand swung in a wide chop that found its target: a sickening sound of tearing flesh announced the parting of the bandit’s jaw with the rest of her face. But you could never be too sure. The half-elf pulled out the blade, letting the bandit stumble before grabbing her by the throat and pinning her to the wall. In one thrust, the metal went under her ribs, piercing the lung and leaving the Redguard with no chance of survival before she was dropped onto the ground.

The scent of blood still fresh in her nose, Saya pushed the door open and ran inside, upstairs. It would have been impossible to cross the bridge with the lookouts in place. In a series of leaps, she crossed the stairs and as soon as the mage entered her view, she mouthed a word under her breath: “ **Wuld** .”

Within a moment, she was already upstairs, Stormblade sinking into the lookout’s back. She could hear one strangled gasp escape him before she slid a hand over his mouth and concentrated the magicka on her palm. The stink of burnt meat stabbed her nose, but she kept going until she was convinced the man’s lips had been scarred shut. When that was assured, the blade was roughly pulled out of his spine and he was kicked off his balcony, tumbling downward. She wasn’t there to watch him fall, however, as the precious seconds were spent on rushing back down to the stairs and opening the door to the bridge.

Then, she stood still, back pressed against the door. The patrolling man had a shield - that she remembered. Thus, she mentally counted down from ten - during her journey, she made a mental note that this is about how long it takes for her to recover from Whirlwind Sprint. Mostly. The numbness was still there, but the ache would be mostly gone by then.

She flinched when she heard the bridge man calling out. When he got no response, the heavy footsteps and the clinking of his armor got progressively louder - he was walking over towards her, and rather quickly. The half-elf reached into a satchel on her back and swiftly pulled out a scroll, unfurling it and mentally reciting the incantation written on it. A faint green glow swirled around her hand when she was done, and she pointed one finger to the wall opposite of her. Soon after, the same green glow flashed faintly on the stone. The bandit appeared not to miss that sign - the sound of footsteps got noticeably slower. More wary.

Saya held her breath, her body as still as a statue. A hand reached into the doorway, looking around while she pressed her back against the wall, trying her best to hide behind the door. The visage of a bearded Nord man passed her, approaching the glowing spot on the wall, bewildered.

“Damian? I swear to Shor, if this is another one of your College tricks…” The man called out again. When he got no response, he instead reached for the mace hanging on his belt. Still eyeing the glow with a squint, he poked the peculiar spot on the wall.

Instantly, the doors behind the bandit closed shut and his muscles seized up, the paralysis rune producing one more green flash as it was activated. Taking the opportunity, Saya grabbed Stormblade with both of her hands and swung for the head once, then twice. After the second time, the vertebrae finally gave in and the head slowly slid off the Nord’s shoulders. Wincing at the sloppy execution, the executor in question gave the body a poke, sending it to tumble downstairs, where nobody can see it, as soon as the paralysis ended.

Another moment or two passed as Saya collected her wits about her. What she was about to do was reckless - she fully realized that. However, seeing as how she had nobody else to help her, there was no other way of taking the towers alone.

Pulling the door open, she began walking over the bridge as inconspicuously as she could, watching for either of the remaining lookouts to notice her. She got about halfway until the one sitting on the cliff to her right seemed to turn into her direction. At that moment, she broke into a sprint, getting a running start and muttering the words for a firebolt under her breath. Then, when the archer had definitely seen her, she leapt off the bridge, free falling and sending the flaming projectile straight at her. She could hear the woman release a pained gasp, sinking back into the chair. At that point, she took a deep breath and released a loud, echoing shout:

“ **WULD** !”

The momentum of her fall rapidly faded. As her body had again faded into a gust of wind, she launched herself upwards, becoming corporeal just above the edge of the cliff. Her blade clutched tightly in her hands, a single overhead swing announced her landing with a painful, wet sound of a sword sinking into muscle. Releasing one last, erratic scream, the bandit went still.

As she rubbed her throat and broke into another sprint for the tower, Saya’s heart was jumping out of her chest. She should have been faster. The others have heard her, damn it.

One, two, three, four-- shit, someone was opening the door already. The grip around Stormblade tightened as she dashed even faster.

Five - she just reached the door as it swung open. Two men. The one in the back is in studded leather, but shoddy. Still reaching for his axe - the thing is imbedded in the table. The one in the front is a bare chested, lower half covered in furs. Already with two axes in hand.

Six - she got spotted. Saya rushed into the guy on the front, pushing him into the table. The armored fella had just got his hands on the axe and began to pull.

Seven - the bare-chested bandit’s stomach got cut open with an upward slice that then rapidly came down to meet his skull. The armored man had just pulled his axe out of the table, sending splinters flying from the damaged piece of furniture.

Eight - he came charging towards the Dunmer. With a grunt, she let go of the weapon and pulled her hands back. She could feel the wind from the axe head whizzing by her fingertips.

Nine - the bandit growled in frustration. The axe swung through the air again, but came to a sudden halt. With the handle held tightly in her grasp, Saya pulled on the weapon and headbutt the bandit in the nose. With a pained scream, he stumbled back, clutching his face.

Ten - after one heavy chop, he stopped screaming.

Saya tossed the axe aside, frantically tugging at her Stormblade and practically tearing it out of the berserker’s head. Her arms were shaking noticeably, her fingers numb and her vision slightly blurry from the tears that welled up in her eyes, unnoticed.

_ Too close. WAY too close. _

Her gaze turned to the wooden stairs, the creaking catching her attention. Forced to regain her composure earlier than she’d like, she stood up, holding the Stormblade with trembling hands. She still felt dizzy after the headbutt, but it’d wear off. Hopefully soon.

Saya’s ears were twitching as the sound of heavy boots stepping on planks kept picking at her brain. Soon, a tall figure revealed itself: it was an Orc man, much taller than her. His looks gave away that he was the leader - compared to the rest of the rabble that used iron and steel and wore hides or leather, he was clad in steel plate and in his arms was a golden-colored greathammer, straight out of a dwemer city.

“... _ you’re _ the one who killed my men?” Came the rumbling voice. He was angry, but just barely containing it. He wanted to watch her squirm, first. It’d make the kill more satisfying.

“Almost.” Saya replied. The Orc grimaced, one eyebrow raised in confusion. The Dunmer responded with a cocky grin. “I killed the women too.” With that, one of her palms released a bolt of flame straight at the brigand. She didn’t stick around to see if it hit - while the flash and the heat distracted him, she did the only thing she could think about. Run.

Only a quarter of the way through the bridge did the Orc finally rush out of the tower and chase after her. At that point, though, the half-elf was waiting for him. Sword sheathed, her hands radiated magical heat as she assumed a defensive stance. With a roaring battlecry and an overhead swing, the Orc charged towards her. Saya moved back, stepping away to make the swing whiff and then grabbing onto his hand, sending waves of heat through his gauntlet. Enraged, he attempted to attack her again, yet again he missed. With each attack, she got closer and closer to the middle of the bridge, where the archway was.

“You know, having heavy armor like that is really a bad idea.” She commented. “Makes it difficult not to sink.” The only response she got was another frustrated roar as the Orc brought his hammer onto Saya. This time, she jumped back and stepped on it, sending a burst of heat into the skull as she grabbed him by the ears and yanked his head into her knee. Dazed, he stepped back, opening his eyes to see the half-elf kicking his warhammer off the bridge.

Disarmed, he turned to the weapon he still had left - his fists. Erratically, he began throwing punches. The Dunmer, however, continued dodging, occasionally deflecting a hook to throw him off balance. They continued fighting, or rather he kept throwing attacks while she continued dodging strike after strike after strike. Then, when his breaths began to heave and his movements began to slow down, she did not dodge. Her hands grabbed his forearms, locking them into a struggle. The Orc, instinctively, tried overpowering her. To his surprise, she didn’t struggle, so it only took one strong yank to throw her off the bridge.

Except she didn’t let go. With her weight still hanging onto him, with the magic searing at his arms, burning through his gauntlets and making his hair char and curl under the metal, he struggled to keep himself standing. So as one final move, she pulled herself up and then suddenly dropped down, sending him off the bridge with her. The Orc released one last cry - this one of terror rather than rage - while Saya took a deep breath and mouthed the word a third time this fight:

“ **Wuld.** ”

Suddenly she disappeared out of his grasp, her form dissipating into thin air. The gust that was her then moved upwards, back onto the bridge, gasping for air. She looked down, and allowed herself a small smile at the sight: the exhausted bandit leader in full plate armor, slowly sinking into the river and flapping his arms around helplessly while his own equipment dragged him down to his death.

Saya’s heartbeat slowed down, finally. The nervousness began to wash away, and the mind had started to slowly regain control over its instincts. That’s when she heard a weird clink beside her. Her red eyes opened again, looking at the north tower. There, the last terrified lookout had sent a single arrow towards her, visibly trembling in the knees after seeing what just happened.

“**Fus, Ro!**” She said, sighing as the force wave sent the bandit stumbling back and screaming as he fell out of his crow’s nest.

"...pat on your back for the effort, bud. Pat on your back for the effort." She said, grunting and standing up before shambling off to loot the bodies.

============

_ I did manage to scramble up some gold from the corpses. The loot chest wasn’t very impressive other than a few gems and pieces of jewelry, but I suppose I should be grateful for that. Still probably more gold than your average farmer sees over a month or two. _

_ The rest of the trip was pleasantly uneventful. The sun was seldom peeking over the horizon when I passed Honningbrew Meadery, so I didn’t stop for a drink as I usually would. Besides, the Markarth incident still makes me eye all kinds of mead suspiciously, and I doubt the owner would be very pleased to see a customer who comes to a meadery and offers wine. _

_ When I arrived in the evening, the city was very lively. There’s been decorations placed all over the place, some houses were in the middle of being painted, and in general - the atmosphere was quite… happy. I was told that tomorrow, on the 27th, is Harvest’s End Festival. People would celebrate it as a way to thank the earth for the bountiful harvest, and to eat the fruits of their labor. I didn’t remember much of a holiday like that back in Morrowind… though the Red Year might have had something to do with that. I’d assume that the eruption of a gigantic volcano would impede agriculture for the following decades. _

_ I almost wish it hadn’t been such a happy day. I still had to talk to Balgruuf. I  _ _ had _ _ to. I promised I would. So… I guess I won’t be enjoying the scenery for much longer. _

_ It’s… weird, but also somewhat funny. The palace of Dragonsreach is supposed to fill people with a feeling of… grandeur, I suppose. Confidence. Yet despite all of that, I just feel intimidation. Like I have not agreed to talk to the Jarl but rather signed the papers to my own execution or something. _

_ Though, in the end, there’s no use for just sitting around, right? The more I wait, the more I will worry about what’ll happen when the waiting is over. Here I come, Dragonsreach. Treat me nicely, please. _

============

The mood inside the palace was much more hollow than on the outside. With all the shouting, cheering, and work going on, the palace was very quiet. The maids were not brushing the floors; the braziers were glowing ever so faintly, as if they were going to go out within the next few minutes, and the only real source of light against the darkness outside was the large hearth in the middle of the hall. The Dragonborn released a heavy breath she didn’t realize she was holding. The leather of her gloves stretched as the fingers curled into a tight fist.

“Jarl Balgruuf? It’s… it’s me.” Saya’s voice called out, just above conversation tone. The words echoed against the empty halls. It was as if with the preparations around the city, there was nobody left at Dragonsreach to do the same here.

“Saya, is it? Please, come on in.” Balgruuf’s voice was weaker, but still just as welcoming as it was last time. Warm, even. Head lowered, she approached slowly. Behind the flames, she could not see his full image, yet that was somehow calming. Even through that cover, however, she could still hear the involuntary sound he made as his expression shifted. A frown, she could tell. “Why do you lower your eyes?”

Saya’s lips moved to speak, but no sound came from them. She moved her hand to hold her other upper arm, as if looking to hide herself. Why was she lowering her eyes? Because she knew what she would see if she looked at him. The visage of a Jarl who treated her like he would a friend, but twisted with a flaw. A fault of her making. An injury.

“...because it’s difficult to look at you after… after what happened.” The girl admitted. She could feel a tear building up in the corner of her eye. She could still hear the pained gasp, still saw the blades of the guards and Irileth herself aimed at her neck. The way she walked- no,  _ ran  _ away. Hoping she wouldn’t need to return, yet promising to anyway. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

The question came as a surprise, Saya’s gaze snapping to Balgruuf, who was sitting in his throne. Beside him, instead of Irileth, stood a Nord woman with long black hair. Her skin was light, but with a hint of pink not unlike the Jarl’s own. She wore a set of steel armor - of fine make, too. At her hip hung a longsword of the same metal, and in her left arm she held a shield bearing Whiterun’s insignia.

“...w-what do you mean?”

“You said you didn’t mean to harm me. And I have seen how agitated you were, too. I never blamed you for feeling unrest after a fight with such a beast… everyone else did, too. I only wish that they would not have ignored it.” There was a tinge of guilt in Balgruuf’s own voice. Indeed, he eyed her through the whole conversation with Hrongar. She could remember it, if only vaguely. “Seeing as how you are here, I assume you had visited High Hrothgar? Have you spoken to the Greybeards?”

The girl wiped the treacherous tear from her eye, nodding. “Yes, my Jarl. I have. They… they had sent me to finish a trial. A… a rite of passage before they would take me in as a proper apprentice.” It was a few seconds until she realized how these words sounded, at which point she hastily clarified. “N-not that I was turned away by them. They had given me a lesson on using this… this power. Though it’s not much, I think I… I did improve.”

Balgruuf’s expression brightened slightly, his mouth stretching into a smile. “Then I see no issue to be made of an accident. You meant me no harm, as you said. I trust you when you say you’ll make sure it won’t happen again.”

Saya clasped her hands, bowing deeply. Her lip was trembling, so she bit down on it to hide the rush of emotion. Gratefulness. Happiness. But more than anything - guilt. “...thank you, my Jarl.”

“Lift your head.” He said, making a motion for her to stand at ease. She obeyed, yet the feeling of shame at being unable to keep her composure lingered, still. “Tell me, do you remember what I have told you before you left?” The female Nord standing beside him turned to look at Balgruuf curiously. She looked like she wanted to say something, but decided not to voice it. The half-elf simply nodded. “Now that you are back, I intend to keep that promise.”

A stifled gasp of pain escaped Balgruuf as he used one arm to help himself stand up. The black-haired woman hastily moved to his side, helping him. Saya hurriedly walked around the hearth as well, but stopping just in front of the throne. Frozen in place, as her eyes found the source of her inner turmoil. There it was, unobscured by the flame: the bandaged arm, now with a leather strap around the man’s shoulder to hold the damaged limb up. He stepped down, and she couldn’t help but turn away. Couldn’t bring herself to look. Not like this.

Her body flinched when she felt a hand touch her shoulder. Then, in a calm, welcoming tone, came the words. “On this day and occasion, I, Balgruuf the Greater, by my authority as Jarl of Whiterun, hereby grant you the title of Thane in my hold. With it, I grant you a place of residence within my city, Breezehome. And, as is befitting of every Thane, I also assign Lydia as your housecarl.” At that point he had let go of the half-elf, turning instead to the black-haired woman. “Lydia, if you would.”

With a nod, she approached the half-elf before standing on one knee. “It is an honor, my liege.” Saya’s face was instantly warped with shock, getting onto one knee herself.

“P-please, that is unnecessary...” She squeezed out, offering Lydia a hand. The housecarl raised an eyebrow, standing up without her assistance, but nodding silently, as if to show that a mental note has been made to avoid that in the future. Balgruuf could be heard chuckling behind Lydia before giving her a pat on the back.

“Lydia, my dear, do not be so stiff. It’s fine.”

“But, uncle…” The Nord attempted to protest, the stoic facade slipping away to reveal worry. Balgruuf did not say anything, however, his gaze alone stopping her train of thought. The Jarl then turned back to Saya.

“Tomorrow is the Harvest’s End, as you may already know. I insist you stay around for it. Besides, it’ll be a good time to get accustomed to your new home. Wouldn’t you agree?” The man smiled, reaching into his pocket and offering something to Saya - a small silver key.

Saya stayed quiet for a few moments, staring at the little object. The flames behind her danced in the metal, giving it a warm orange shine. It seemed so small, yet… so heavy. That if she took it, she would simply collapse. Unconsciously, she reached for it, but stopped as soon as her fingertips touched the metal. Her red eyes, shining ever so slightly in the room’s half-shade, looked into Balgruuf’s, confused. Her lips began quivering again, and so she choked out a single question, just barely a whisper:

“But…  _ why _ ?”

“Because, Saya, you are a hero. And being a hero is, perhaps, the most difficult thing that can happen to a person. From every side, you will be surrounded by malice and jealousy. And in every corner of the world, there will be someone who will be calling for your aid. That is the weight that is yours to bear.

But, to be a hero is to bring hope. Your very presence will inspire fear into evildoers, and it will give faith to those you are protecting. It is a heavy responsibility, to be such a beacon. Especially one with a power like yours. There will be those who will want to get rid of you. There will be those who will seek to use you.” He spoke, his tone solemn. The hearth continued to flicker, and Saya began feeling like it was… colder, somehow. Simply listening about all of this.

But he continued. “That is not my goal. My goal is to show you that I am grateful for what you are doing. Everyone has their interests - money, power, politics… but my only interest is my people. The city my children will grow up in. The future that they, and countless others, will have to experience - it is all decided by the actions of the adults of today. What you have done that day is save my city. What you have done is given them someone to look up to who is not soaked in the blood of his kinsmen fighting for some abstract goal. What you have done… is given us hope. For that, I am forever in your debt.”

He lifted his hand with the key in it and pressed it into her palm. “And with this gift, I hope to at least begin repaying it.”

Shakily, Saya’s fingers closed, clutching the little object in her hand. It was… warm. And not at all heavy, like she imagined it to be. Her vision was blurry, eyes staring motionlessly at the small key, as if it’d vanish the moment she let it out of sight. Hiccups began to break up her breathing, and hot, wet streaks started burning at her cheeks.

Weeping and laughing, she looked up at Balgruuf. The hearth was yet flickering behind her, lighting the palace’s features as well as his own. “Jarl Balgruuf…” She snorted, wiping her face and nose. Her eyes well full of tears, yet her expression was full of joy. “This must be the most eloquent bribe I have accepted yet.”

Balgruuf let himself smile, one hand wrapping around her shoulder and pulling her in as she continued to laugh, the tears disappearing in his mantle.

The hearth continued flickering behind her. She felt warm.

============

**Middas, the 27th of Last Seed**

============

_ The first night in Breezehome was… pleasant. The house was already fully furnished, so I passed out almost as soon as I arrived yesterday. When the morning came, though, I really, really didn’t want to get out of the soft bed. Truly, the nights spent in inns or sleeping bags out in the wild really make you appreciate the little things more. _

_ Most of the day I spent simply walking around and appreciating the scenery. For once, I even had a reason to bust out my dress I bought in Riften when I first arrived from Morrowind. Just a simple little thing, not too revealing but still pretty in its own right. Adventuring was good work, what with all the money it brought in, but the spending was not one bit less satisfying. A necklace here, some delicious food there, maybe an exotic ingredient or two for experimenting later. With Harvest’s End, people seemed to be just as happy to share the results of their labor as they were content to enjoy them on their own. _

_ There was just a certain something that bugged me, though. That something had a name, and the name was Lydia. Throughout the entire day, she insisted on following me around in full gear, on constant lookout for my safety. I’ll give the girl credit - she had insane stamina and she certainly aimed to please, but it was really getting annoying to hear the clinking of metal behind me all the time. So, when the sun was on its way towards setting and the work day was coming to a close in favor of pure, unadulterated celebration, I figured it was high time to sit her down and have a talk before this got out of hand. _

============

“Lydia?”

“Yes, my Thane?” The reply came instantly. If the line was any longer Saya would have made the bet that it was recited. Though, considering how mechanical the rest of the housecarl’s actions have been this entire day, it would not be too much of a stretch to suggest that even that short a line was recited to get just the perfect tone of subservience. Poor thing. “Is there anything you need?”

“Actually, yeah. Sit down, please.” The Dunmer motioned to a chair beside her. The Bannered Mare was full of noise and glee today, the sound of song and the smell of food creating a unique feeling of being carefree. A serenity, of sorts. Which made it all the more jarring to have the ball of tension that is Lydia constantly around. “Tell me. What have you been doing before you were assigned my housecarl?”

“I was a guard, ma’am.” Came the reply. There was a brief pause before it, of course, - the question probably caught her by surprise. “I have been training to be a soldier since I was a child.”

“So, you’re a soldier, then?”

Lydia nodded, a proud smile on her face. “Yes, my Thane.”

Saya hummed to herself, a rather clear image painting in her head. Being the daughter of a warmonger such as Hrongar, it’d be a surprise if the girl didn’t turn out to have a liking for combat. Especially if her father is so… forward in his somewhat aggressive traditionalistic tendencies. “I don’t want that.”

“I… beg your pardon?” Lydia’s mask of stoicism suddenly cracked as she let her expression become warped with the worst kind of surprise. Her brows furrowed, her state teetering between shock and genuine offense.

“I said that I don’t want a soldier, Lydia.” She said, reaching for a bottle that had been standing on the table for a while now. She corked it open and brought the lip to her mouth, taking a large swig of mead. Good old Honningbrew. “If I wanted a soldier I’d pay one of the dozens of self-proclaimed ‘veterans’ who think they’re the next Hero of Kvatch because they survived the war by sitting it out in the city in reserve. I don’t want a person-shaped weapon at my side.” She set the bottle down, her words not overly loud, but with cold, methodical pauses in between to make herself perfectly clear. “I never asked for a soldier.”

As Lydia continued to listen, she did not know what to think. Her face was flushed and her knuckles whitened from how tightly she clenched her fists. Was she about to be just… tossed aside? Is this what the hero of Skyrim did? Throw people away based on what she wants?! Just some entitled… elven…!

The Nord had already made the motion to stand up, the chair creaking obnoxiously under the weight of her armor. Then, the voice of her Thane stopped her. “I didn’t say I want you to leave.”

Was… was she just toying with her at this point? Exasperated, the housecarl sat down, her thoughts a complete mess. “Then… what  _ do _ you want from me? First you said you didn’t want me, but now you’re saying-”

“When did I say that I didn’t want you?” Saya’s question stopped the starting rant dead in its tracks before it could even start properly. The Dunmer reached for one of the metal mugs standing on the table, beginning to pour the contents of the Honningbrew brand bottle into them. “I said I didn’t want a soldier, Lydia. I don’t want a soldier because a soldier is someone who exists to follow orders. To fight. To obey commands. But… aren’t you more than that?”

The distress in Lydia’s mind began to slowly dissolve with the sound of mead pouring into the mug. The sweet scent of honey pulled at her attention. One of the many scents she spent the entire day ignoring.

The Thane continued, still not facing the conflicted housecarl. “A good guard is one who is able to tolerate any offense in their direction that doesn’t constitute a crime. A guard is someone whose well-being is treated second, if not third or fourth after the city, or the Jarl, or whomever it may concern. I do not want that.”

The sound of a tankard sliding over to her side of the table broke Lydia’s chain of thought, offered by Saya while she began pouring a second one. “I didn’t see what I wanted to see today. I saw you watching me, each of my steps under your surveillance. I saw you silently following me to every corner of the city despite knowing full well it is safe. I saw you trying to please me, Lydia.” She said, placing the empty bottle down onto the table. “But you forgot about yourself. On a day of festivities and happiness, you didn’t allow yourself a single smile, not a single moment where you would not be performing your duty.”

Saya’s slender fingers wrapped around the mug’s handle. With a smile, she lifted it, waiting for Lydia. “I did not ask for a soldier who’d protect me... but a friend to have my back would be nice. What do you say to that, housecarl?”

The response she got was laughter. As a familiar noise of metal hitting metal reached her ears, so did the feeling of her tankard touching another in a cheer. Saya smiled, and across the table was Lydia. The real, laughing, cheerful Lydia.

“Aye, Thane. I can do that."

============

**Tirdas, the 28th of Last Seed**

============

_ Hangover, my old friend. How I have not missed you. I should really learn to drink in moderation whenever I'm traveling… Although I'm always traveling, so it kind of sucks the fun out of the whole thing, doesn't it? _

_ Myself and Lydia moved out today relatively late, so the journey got stretched out compared to how short it could have been potentially. Thankfully, as a city-issued housecarl, Lydia was provided with a horse. I did have some spare gold, so I bought one to match. Considering the kinds of things that happen on the road these days, I don't know how long she'll remain in my care, but for now I’ll stick to calling her Annie. Short and sweet, simple enough for both of us to remember. _

_ According to the map, the road up north, towards Dawnstar, was named the Red Road. The name will probably never cease to confuse me, but I suppose it’s better than not having one altogether. Along the way there, we passed a farm owned by a fella named Loreius. Normally I wouldn’t make a note of it, but it wasn’t Loreius himself or his farm that caught my interest. _

_ In fact, it’d be a jester. An honest-to-gods jester in Skyrim, wailing about a broken wagon wheel in the squeakiest voice a man of 30-something winters could possess. Lydia wanted to simply ignore him, but I decided to hop off Annie just in case. As it turned out, the little man was around for nigh-on two hours now, asking for help from the aforementioned Loreius, to no avail. He offered me some gold to try and coax the farmer, and honestly I was hesitant at first: the big box inside the wagon seemed exceedingly suspicious. But, when asked, the jester provided an explanation: he was transporting his mother’s corpse from a different province for the burial. As proof, he even provided some of the oils and tools he had used to prepare it - I actually recognized some from the few trips I’ve had with mother to the Dunmeri burial crypts. I was convinced enough, so it didn’t take much longer than a few pitying looks and sentimental words to persuade Loreius as well. As payment, the little man - named Cicero, as I learned - offered quite a sum: just a little over five hundred drakes. Must’ve been quite the rich mother. _

_ We didn’t spend much more time on the road from there. By the time we passed the Weynon Stones, however, I noticed the chill beginning to pick up, and it was already getting dark enough to see the moons if you looked up into the sky. So, while we couldn’t reach Dawnstar or Ustengrav itself at this rate, we did manage to get to the base of the Stendarr Vigilants - the Hall of the Vigilant. The people here appeared to exercise the concept of Stendarr’s mercy (Stendarr is known as the God of Compassion, after all) a bit more than their brothers and sisters out in the fields. Thus, we were allowed to stay the night. The rooms are actually quite well-furnished for a temporary shelter for travelers. Hopefully we’ll get up earlier tomorrow. _

============

**Fredas, the 29th of Last Seed**

============

_ It was a good two hours of travel until we passed the Pale border and got into Hjaalmarch territory. We stopped by an Imperial troops’ camp for directions once, but overall it wasn’t too difficult a journey. There was the slightly unnerving sight of Dwarven towers littering the mountains to the southeast of us, so I made a mental note to mark them on my map. If lady luck decides to take a peek my way, I might explore these when I have a little more time to spare. _

\------------------------

_ Ustengrav did not present us with a very warm welcome. On the contrary, it was a gang of cryomancers that was doing the greeting. Lydia already proved herself a huge help with that shield of hers - none of the ice spikes could get through, and by the time they noticed me creeping up their limbs were probably in the middle of saying goodbye to their torso. _

_ As it turned out, the inside of Ustengrav was not quite as empty as I’d hoped either. Instead, its population of draugr and skeletons had been replaced with what appeared to be aspiring necromancers using the bodies of undead for practice. I won’t lie, if they weren’t trying to kill me as soon as I look the other way, I might have let some of them go: some of them just looked like embittered College of Winterhold rejects or something. _

\------------------------

_ It was not until maybe an hour into it that we began meeting draugr without the companionship of living people. As lively as always, pun maliciously intended, they still have not proven to be much of a challenge. If anything, what struck me as odd is that they all seemed to be… damaged in some way. A scrape here, a crack in the armor there, maybe a dislocated shoulder, or maybe a burn mark on the leg. It was as if someone had already been here before but decided to avoid them instead of killing them. It’s… worrying. _

_ The “domesticated” caves did eventually morph into man-made scenery, with the familiar winding halls, metal doors, and chiseled floors of your average ancient Nordic city. The coffins were beginning to become more frequent, but so did the pattern from before: a lot of the draugr were damaged. If earlier I could have disregarded it as, mayhaps, just an error on the undead creature’s part, such as maybe walking into a torch or something, this time I could see it could simply not have been an accident: burns very similar to shock magic would be decorating the occasional draugr, some of them had their weapons taken, and some were killed right there, in their coffins. _

_ It was in the depths that we have set up camp. Glorious place, really: just this large, open cavern, filled with suspended stone passageways and columns to hold the bridges up. There was even a waterfall at the bottom of this thing! When I walked down to it, I actually found another wall with a word of power on it. This one felt… fleeting, sort of. Kind of like a snowflake landing onto a hot palm. You see it, and then all of a sudden it simply isn’t there anymore. Like ‘Wuld’ but without the… aggression? Momentum? Either way, I suppose it’s no use to ponder over it right now seeing as how I don’t have the years to meditate on the meaning anyway. _

_ Anywho, my watch should be ending in just a few minutes, and I should probably go back to keeping an eye out for draugr instead of writing, as entertaining as it is. Can’t wait to catch a quick nap. _

============

**Loredas, the 30th of Last Seed**

============

“My Thane, what are you doing?”

The question came in a tone equally confused and tired, as Lydia was rubbing her eyes with her fist, still attempting to shake off the sleepiness. What she woke up to was, firstly, Saya’s impatient whispering. When the groggy housecarl asked how long she was asleep, the Dunmer just hastily mentioned something about a sword glowing before all but dragging her out of the sweet, soothing warmth of her bedroll. Saya simply kept walking, letting go of Lydia’s wrist when she was confident that the Nord would follow her on her own, and pointed at the other end of a large bridge suspended over the lower section of the city, where the wall and waterfall were.

“Exploring, Lydia. I have been exploring. And rightfully so.” To accent the words, the Dunmer gestured in the direction they were going. It was a relatively large artificial clearing, with floor of chiseled tiles and an occasional bas-relief peeking out from under the hanging moss. Three columns stood by the sides of a thin pathway, with intricate carvings on each one facing inward. At the very end of the alcove was a passage blocked by multiple portculli, seemingly with no way to enter.

“It’s… a dead end?” The housecarl asked, eyebrow raised. Her Thane, however, walked onwards, patting one of the stones.

“Not quite. Look.” In a swift motion, Saya swung her hand in front of the carved side of the column. Instantly, the stone’s engravings lit up with a magical red glow, and a tortured noise of grinding metal was produced by the portcullis at the front of the passage as it was pulled up. Then, seconds later, it slammed back down into the stone, producing a loud clang as the chipped metal spikes collided with the floor to be damaged again. “There’s a bit of a problem, though.”

The loud noise shook Lydia awake, and once her mind processed the imagery in front of it, she squinted. “What’s the problem?”

“It’s not possible to run through. I have tried a few times already.” She replied. Indeed, while she was technically supposed to be on second watch, Saya had gotten bored somewhere midway through, instead opting to explore a bit without venturing too far out. In the process, she made use of the Lunar sword she had found - but mostly the torch part of its functionality. “The only way through there is with a Shout. Probably made by the Greybeards to test newbies, I’d imagine.”

“...oh.” The Nord crossed her arms, a displeased frown crossing her face. Obviously, she didn’t possess the ability to shout, so she was essentially locked out of the rest of the dungeon. “What should I do, then?”

Saya’s hand went to her chin, the girl humming as she was considering her options. Then, with a snap of her fingers, came a realization. “Our horses. We left them outside, right?” Lydia nodded in confirmation. “Then it might be a good idea for you to go back out and take them to Dawnstar. Here,” a hand reached into the Dragonborn’s pouch, scooping out a handful of golden coins, “you can rent a room and stay there until I’m back. I don’t think I’ll take much longer.”

The housecarl took the coin, noticing that there was a lot more than enough for just a room and some food for herself and the horses. She made no comment, however. Last time she did, it turned into a rather lengthy conversation out of which none came out pleased. “Why do you think so?”

Saya turned back at the portculli, giving them a long, careful look. Then, she set one foot forward, preparing to dash as fast as she can. “Because there’s never a choke point like this in a Nordic crypt unless the thing behind it is something worth desperately hiding.”

The leather in Saya’s boots stretched to accommodate for her sudden takeoff. As she passed each pillar, she was met with a low hum and a flash of red from behind her back. Soon, she was right in front of the portculli - which is precisely when they began to fall. Not a half-second after she passed it, the first spiked gate came falling down. With her head just below it, the second one let out a creaking noise of rust being scratched off before collapsing as well. It was then that the Shout she’d gotten quite familiar with had left her lips: “ **Wuld** !”

As if a banished ghost disappearing, her body vanished from sight, the momentum of her sprint turning into a gale that blew between the metal bars. With the noise of the last gate crashing down into the stone came the much quieter sound of two feet landing on the stone tiles. Huffing, the Dunmer stumbled to stop herself from continuing to move forward. Her red eyes opened as a bead of sweat rolled down her forehead from the burst of exertion, scanning the room as an all-too-familiar crack emanated from the wall and another lid popped off its respective coffin. With a grunt, Saya pulled out her Lunar blade. Nap time is over, back to work.

============

_ Hopefully Lydia would be okay on her own. Although I guess I don’t really have a basis for worrying - she’d proven to be nothing if not reliable this whole time. I trust her to be able to get out of a cleared ruin on her own. _

_ As for the occupied part, I’m uneasy at best and anxious at worst. The trend of bodies not rising as they are supposed to is becoming unnerving the more I notice the damage on them. Whoever was in front of me was getting impatient. I’ll have to be careful. _

============

When the final room of Ustengrav was reached, what should have been a feeling of accomplishment was instead replaced with an almost paranoid wariness. The bridge in the middle seemed like it would fall out from under her feet, even though there was no pit to fall into. The water on the sides with its grand sculptures that were slowly rising to greet the newest Greybeard felt like white noise that was purposefully there to conceal something.

_ No, it’s okay. Nothing is here. Just grab the horn and go. _

As her fingers wrapped tighter around the handle of the longsword, Saya forced herself to exhale and continue to move. Right in front of her was a coffin. She could notice the script on its sides, repeated in different tongues: Tamrielic, Daedric, even Draconic. The text read “Jurgen the Calm” - a memorial to the person buried here. Something more appropriate to replace a gravestone.

The closer she approached, the more detail could she notice: the various inscriptions reciting the etched tablets on the way towards High Hrothgar, the carvings of dragons and men standing beside one another, roaring flames or crystal frost gushing from their bodies. The centerpiece of the scene was placed on top of the lid - a carefully, painstakingly sculpted forearm, reaching upwards, as if in celebration of victory or in offering to the sky; the veins and muscles of the limb were defined and chiseled with the finest detail, giving it the appearance as if it were not a work of art, but an actual petrified arm; the fingers were curled, holding-

-nothing.

_ There is no horn. _

“And thus, the offering arrives to the altar of its slaughter.” The words came in a husky, muffled voice, as if spoken through a mask. Saya’s head jerked around, her entire form entering a battle stance. Her gleaming eyes darted around the room, searching for its source. Just barely, a blurred form could be seen by her, entering through the main chamber door, approaching the bridge she had just passed. A chameleon spell.

“The Deceiver comes of her own volition, ripe for judgement.” Another voice - female, yet similarly muffled - echoing the chamber, before the sound of the doors being forced shut drowned it out. Another form, standing besides Saya’s grip around her blade grew tighter, knuckles whitening under the gloves.

“Our eyes once were blinded, now through him do we see.” A third came from above, reverberating off the stones and water. Like a chameleon unmasking, a shadow leapt off one of the statues - only barely visible thanks to the water drops sliding off its robes.

“Our hands once were idle, now through them does he speak.” The fourth, whispering from behind. A transparent arm reached from behind the coffin, but swiftly withdrawing when the Dragonborn’s reflexive swing produced a bright flash from the blade in her hands, revealing the outline of a leather glove.

The four silhouettes stood still once spotted, abandoning any notion of hostility in their posture, instead staring at her, unmoving, except for the very first one, who continued to approach Saya. Her gaze fixated on him, one of her hands already weaving a firebolt in preparation. The figure made no move, as if waiting for her to reply before he were to speak again.

“ _ Who are you? _ ” She practically hissed. The figure raised one arm, Saya’s eyes latching onto the smallest distortions to see the movement, and then a snap split the room’s eerie, unstable quiet. Like dust scattering, the chameleon spell faded away from all four figures, revealing them to be wearing identical outfits: dark brown robes, with black trousers and matching boots visible from underneath; gloves of tough leather, the back of the palms covered in yellow scales fashioned from chitin, trailing all the way to the shoulder on the right side; dark, long hoods obscuring the ears and hair; and lastly - bone-white masks with practically nonexistent eyeholes, fashioned with esoteric carvings and shaped in such a peculiar way, that one could not tell if it were growing horns and gnashing fangs, or if these were tentacles, hanging loosely from the bottom as if the face a sleepy netch.

The voice spoke again. “We are the bringers of a new world, Deceiver.” In unison, three blades were drawn, while the fingers of the speaker, previously rubbing against one another after the snap, were now crackling with lightning.

“And you shall be the sacrifice to its new God.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the wait, as I have severely overestimated my ability to balance schoolwork, games, sleep, and the neverending combat with writer's block. While I was inactive, though, I decided that - hey, if I'm going to be consumed with a constant feeling of self-loathing that compels me to delete everything I have worked up to because I am not enjoying the story I am telling, then why not make a new one?  
So, as it stands, over the past four months I've been slowly writing up a rough outline of events for this, turning it from a slightly less shoddy rewrite of a shoddy story into a proper work of its own, including my own new takes on the quests encountered in the game.  
Thank you for reading.


	4. Revelations

============

A flash of light in Saya’s right hand swiftly warped into a blast of heat. As the firebolt left her palm, her target stumbled backwards into the coffin in which he was hiding. Every figure seemed to shift into a combat stance, red eyes glaring at one another. A sharp smell of ozone briefly filled the air as the leader’s fingers snapped, lightning between them crackling rapidly before assimilating into a single bolt. The light-speed magic struck Saya’s right shoulder, leaving her wincing in pain.

The torchlight on the wall reflected briefly along the edge of an ebony dagger. The drenched cultist had drawn his blade and rushed towards the Dragonborn from her left, attempting to land a frenzied stab into her back. Yet another flash, this time of bright white, announced the blocking of the attack, Saya’s Lunar blade gleaming with magicka. The cultist growled, his barely-visible eyes shifting under the mask to look to the side. Instinctually, Saya’s own gaze followed his - a mistake that was instantly punished as a sudden dull ache was felt in her abdomen, the cultist kneeing her square in the stomach.

She could practically hear the masked man grin as he raised his dagger once more, preparing to try and run the metal through her back again. Without missing a beat, however, the Dunmer pushed forward, tackling her attacker and pushing him into the wall. The air left his lungs with a wheeze, and as a swift stab was about to turn it into a bloody gurgle, Saya’s sword had suddenly refused to move. She felt a strong pull fighting against her, and the joints in her fingers popped from the exertion needed to resist its force. Her red eyes shot a glare behind herself, and true enough - the sorcerer she blasted with the firebolt was straining, his hands radiating a familiar orange glow of a powerful telekinesis spell.

The whistle of an arrow had grasped Saya’s attention, the projectile releasing a quiet clink as it bounced off the wall. Just a few more inches to the side and it’d have been in her neck. Grunting, the Dragonborn let go of the sword, letting it get yanked out of her left hand as her right weaved yet another flame spell. Just as quickly as the cultist caught his breath, it left his lungs yet again in an agonized scream when five burning fingers wrapped tightly around his throat, rapidly singing both the cloth and the skin under it.

Another arrow was loosed by the masked archer, the pain and the sound of two pairs of footsteps running in her direction forcing a curse out of the Dunmer’s mouth. Her arm was shaking involuntarily and she dropped the cultist’s corpse, a hole singed in his neck, turning instead to face her assailants. While she could not see behind the masks of the other fanatics, she didn’t have to look at their faces to know they were not pleased with their companion’s fate.

Her left arm extended to reach for Stormblade that was still safely at her hip, but another arrow’s whistle interrupted her, missing her by a hair. The Dunmer lunged away, hiding behind one of the pillars. At the very edge of her peripheral she could see the coffin warmer prepare another spell, intent on not letting her draw her second weapon, so she opted for magic. Both of her hands were swirling with energy, forming into clots of magical embers. One fireball followed by another, the two projectiles darted towards the enemy mage. The exploding flames engulfed the room, but the cultist only cackled, grasping the Silent Moons blade with one hand while the other weaved a defensive ward, protecting him.

Another crackle of lightning echoed in the chamber, Saya’s gaze barely following the sparkling energy quick enough to see it impact the wall before bouncing off towards her. A shrill scream escaped her throat as the chain lightning impacted her, her entire body convulsing as the Dunmer dropped down to her knees. Then came another, and another, and another - all in rapid succession, all renewing the agony, all strengthening the stench of burnt flesh in her nostrils, until she completely collapsed onto the floor.

The sound of three people stepping towards Saya was excruciating. Through blurry eyes she could see the leader’s figure looming over her, his hands sizzling with shock magic waiting to be released. Weakly, she attempted to raise her arm, muttering the incantation under her breath, yet the magical fire never appeared. Confused, she tried again, speaking the words out loud - but nothing left her mouth except soundless breaths. Her ears twitched as she heard a chuckle and a sound of water splashing. Her red eyes darted to the telekinetic mage from before, catching the very last motions of him tossing her Lunar sword into the water. This time, his hands were surrounded by what looked like a grey, barely visible mist weaving into strings of energy. A Silence spell.

“And so, the false Dragonborn falls. Pathetic.” The leader’s raspy voice taunted her, his boots scratching against the stone floor with every step. The purple streaks of lightning crackled around his hands as he looked down upon her. Saya continued to glare at him, silent. “You’re not even worthy to be a sacrifice in our Lord’s name.” Another step. Vaguely, she could see a grey line of energy drawn on the floor. She waited. One step, two steps…

Entering the silenced zone, he drew a dagger from his hip just as the shock magic vanished from his fingertips. At that moment, Saya lunged towards the cultist, grabbing his arm and twisting it. A silent scream erupted under his mask as she yanked the dagger out of his hand, stabbing the man in the stomach before slamming the hilt into the side of his head. Dazed, the cultist stumbled to the side right before an arrow flew from behind him. The Dragonborn leaned to the side, the projectile’s tip grazing across her cheek before impacting the wall with a pitiful noise.

Flipping the dagger in her hand, Saya threw it at the archer. A pained grunt is all she needed to hear to regain her confidence and dash out of the range of the Silence spell. The girl shoulder-slammed into the mage, pinning him to the wall with her forearm pushing down on his windpipe. Her left hand became scalding hot, flames appearing at her fingertips before being smashed into the cultist’s stomach, knocking the breath out of him. The man fell to his knees, barely registering his mask being ripped off his head before she clapped her hands on his ears and channeled magical heat through her body. His screech became almost animalistic, his whole body tensing up and seizing before his eyes glazed over and he became limp, boiling blood dripping from his nose and ears, carrying the distinct stink of smoke.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Saya turned around, blindly throwing another firebolt in the leader’s direction. Once her gaze focused on him, though, her eyes widened as she saw her projectile dissipate harmlessly against the carcass of a frost atronach. Before she could so much as curse, her own move was turned on her as the massive ice limb struck her. The Dragonborn’s body was pinned to the wall, the icy limb pushing on her chest so hard she could almost feel her ribs cracking if any more force were applied.

Again, the gloating leader approached, healing magic swirling around a hand he pressed against the wound on his stomach. “Lucky… Hah… Hit.” He wheezed, looking to his left to see his archer companion struggling to pull out the dagger from her shoulder, wincing and gritting her teeth. He shook his head, mentally commanding the atronach to raise its other arm, preparing for a punch to finish her off. “I… Suppose your heart will be as good an offering as your head. Any quips or prayers to your false gods, Deceiver?”

Saya struggled to gasp for a breath, her feet kicking in the air. She placed both of her hands onto the atronach’s arm, holding herself up. A hateful gaze was cast in the direction of the faceless daedra and its summoner as she sorted through her options. She didn’t have the magicka for a spell strong enough to blast away this creature before it could turn her head into a pulp, her sword wouldn’t do a thing, and the arm currently pressing on her ribcage wouldn’t exactly let her draw a big enough breath to Shout...

And then, it came to her. She closed her eyes, trying to regain her composure. The cultist watched her, scornful but still waiting for her last words in a twisted form of courtesy. “Will… Agh, fuck-” A half-faked coughing fit interrupted her speech, a fist slamming down on the frost atronach’s arm. The creature didn’t even budge.  _ Oh well, it was worth a shot. _ “...Will my ancestors suffice?”

The man raised an eyebrow beneath his mask, confused. The confusion was quickly replaced with alarm, however, as searing hot flames engulfed Saya’s entire body, the magical fire so hot that the atronach’s arm began to melt and evaporate immediately and the Dragonborn dropped onto the floor. While she landed on her hands and knees, the leader panicked, commanding the creature to strike her. The punch wound up, but did not meet its target as a loud crack echoed in the chamber. Saya opened her eyes and smirked, looking up to see the flaming apparition of a Dunmer man blocking the atronach’s attack with a pair of swords stuck into the daedra’s arm.

The ancestor ghost let out a battlecry, drawing its swords apart to widen the crack until the icy limb split in two, a chunk of arcane ice falling onto the floor before dissipating into thin air. The cultist watched this with dread overwhelming him - so much so that it took Saya punching him square in the masked face to awaken him from the stupor. He stumbled back, growling in frustration. The Dragonborn unsheathed her Stormblade, not wasting another moment before going in for her next strike.

The ghost continued assailing the atronach, pushing it back with each strike, a spinning dervish of blades and flame rending the daedra asunder. The frenzied, dance-like movements came to an end with a large, X-shaped overhead slash that destroyed the creature, its remains falling onto the ground and melting into an unstable substance that dissolved in the air, leaving behind only miniscule grains of frost salts. The ghost turned its head sharply towards the archer, who yelped, crawling back and scrambling to stand up with one arm. The ancestor only gave her a spiteful look before brandishing his swords and charging forward.

The group leader scrambled back to make some distance between himself and Saya, clutching a wound she had created on his leg and channeling magicka through his body to heal it. The red-headed Dunmer, on the other hand, did not pause for a second, continuing to throw stab after stab in the cultist’s direction, poking holes through his robes and his flesh alike. One particularly strong jab pierced the man’s shoulder, producing a pained scream before she tugged her sword out and he fell onto his back, huffing and shaking in agony.

Saya approached him slowly, staring him down as she spoke in a low voice. “Who. Sent. You.”

The man coughed, clutching the wound in his torso, hopelessly trying to stop the bleeding or, at least, the pain. “T-this is… This is but a t-temporary setback…! Lord M-Miraak will return, and then… T-then, your lies will be exposed…!”

Saya squinted. “...Lord Miraak, you say?”

She could feel him grin under his mask, a grim chuckle escaping his lips. “Ooh yes… Our Lord… H-he will make you pay… Our suffering is--” The Dunmer broke into a cough, blood flowing from under his mask. “...Hahh… Our suffering is b-but… An investment… Into what He will bring unto you!” Suddenly, his hand shot up, a bolt of lightning fully formed at the center of his palm. Reflexively, the Dragonborn put up her sword, forgetting about how metal could channel lightning in the heat of the moment.

She had expected pain, mentally cursing her body for moving before thinking as she braced herself for the shock. However, it never arrived. Surprised, she looked at Stormblade. She saw the magical lightning impact it, pushing it back, yet instantly weakening, as if hitting a ward. Then, she noticed the blade itself begin to… Crackle. Small zaps of electricity coursing through the metal, coiling around it.

The fanatic went still, the gaze behind his mask moving slowly behind Saya. The last member of his group was on the floor, weeping and crying out for mercy before the last blow of the ghost’s curved blade sent her head rolling on the floor. The leader shook, but not with fear. With rage. Despite being in such a pitiful state, his voice was filled to the brim with the most bitter of venom. “...Pay…! You will PAY!” He hissed, even through the tiny peepholes in the mask she could see the mad gleam of his red eyes.

Saya looked at the Ancestor spirit behind her. Their gazes locked, and a small nod from her was signal enough for the ghost to give her a small bow before vanishing. Her left hand rose above her head, the lightning still sizzling in the heavy blade. “Then I will greet him as you did me.” She swung down, and the metal sank into the cultist’s shoulder with ease, as though cutting through butter. Every muscle in his body seized up momentarily, magical shocks dancing and rippled across his skin, his exposed vessels darkening like paper tossed into a campfire.

Then, he went still, and as a fleeting scent of smoke tickled Saya’s nostrils, the chamber was plunged into a deafening silence.

  
  


============

_ I bloody knew it! _

_ Damned things, don't even know where they came from. Materials look like they're from Morrowind, but something about those masks is just… Off. I can't put my finger on it, but it doesn't look like something they'd make back in, say, Blacklight or something. I grabbed one of the masks while searching the bodies and shoved it in my backpack. Maybe I'll ask someone a bit more knowledgeable if they recognize it.  _

_ Speaking of searching the bodies - there was a note in the leader's pocket. All crumpled up, and it didn't look like something he'd write - at the very least, I am damn sure he wouldn't call himself my friend and cordially invite me to Riverwood in the same breath as he would tell me how I'm going to die by his hand. Whoever it was, though, it was this writer who took the horn. I can't exactly just… Come back to Arngeir without it, so I suppose I have no choice but to investigate. _

_ I'll be heading out to Dawnstar now, I suppose. Traveling out at night is definitely risky, but it's better than sleeping in a crypt full of re-deaded undead where I also got ambushed by people who weren't anything-dead. A bit too much dead for my liking.  _

_ Try saying  _ _ that _ _ five times fast.  _

_ \------------------------ _

_ I got to Dawnstar in the small hours of the morning. I don't think I'll need much sleep, seeing as how it's only been a few hours since our camping at Ustengrav. Just a little nap should do. Wouldn't want to lose too much daytime.  _

_ I haven't told Lydia about the attack, though. It hasn't even been a week since I talked to her first about not being too protective of me and neglecting towards herself. This would just be adding fuel to the fire. I'll tell her eventually, but definitely not now.  _

_ Hopefully one day will be enough to make the Whiterun stretch. Some shopping would be good to do, though - I'm not very used to traveling with other people so our rations are on the low side. _

_ Besides, this is a port town, right? Maybe I'll find something interesting. _

_ ============ _

**Sundas, the 31st of Last Seed**

============

The cooling embers were teetering on the brink of going out, but their warm orange glow was still enough to light the basement's cold walls. The pedal pressed repeatedly, slowly pushing the grinding stone's wheel to turn. Saya pressed a straight, dark-colored sword against it, the weapon releasing a sharp hiss as it received its first ever sharpening. She didn't notice the beads of sweat forming on her forehead anymore, having paused her work far too many times in the past few hours to wipe them away until they reappeared seconds later.

Lydia sat on a chair beside her, watching the process with great interest for some time now. She’d walked in on her Thane some three, four hours ago when she had just finished shaping the weapon-in-progress. Her eyes wandered over the relaxed movement of Saya’s hands and feet, the sword’s shrill grinding sound turning into white noise in the back of her mind as she watched the Dunmer periodically stop the stone to check the blade’s shape. Then, she’d go right back to it again.

“You look really comfortable doing that.” The housecarl eventually commented, leaning into the back of the chair. Truly, she’d seen other blacksmiths work before, such as Adrianne - the two were friends, seeing as how their fathers were both working in the Jarl’s court and they’d meet nigh on every day at the palace as children. Lydia wasn’t an artisan, herself, but she could recognize a good smith when she saw one. “Where did you learn to work with metal?”

A fond smile stretched Saya’s lips. “It was my father who taught me. Halvard was his name. He was Breton by race, but definitely a Nord at heart.” She exhaled softly, almost like a quiet laugh leaving her mouth. “Born and raised in Markarth. You know how it goes there - you’re either a nobleman, a trader, a miner, or a smith. So he became a smith, and a damn good one at that. Traveled all over selling his things, be it strong blades or beautiful necklaces. When he settled down with my mother, ebony and silver were something of his signature. Two homes united in one, he’d call it… Heh. Cheesy old man.”

The wheel of the grindstone continued turning, sparks sometimes coming off the black blade. The orange light of the forge seemed to dance and merge with the blade’s color, turning into a deep, purple glint.

“He’d let me stay and watch him work often. Then one time, when he wasn’t looking, I took his hammer and tried beating at whatever something he was working on. Some axe, I think.” The Dunmer paused the wheel to laugh for a few seconds. The blade in her hands was quickly taking its final shape in her experienced hands. “Ended up breaking off the hook accidentally. He didn’t yell at me or anything, though. No, instead he told me to repair it under his instruction, but without any assistance. A punishment of sorts to learn the value of the hard work that goes into making something like this.”

Lydia listened to her Thane talk with great interest. In the days they’d traveled together, Saya almost never allowed herself a genuine laugh that wasn’t backed by snark or cockiness. So to see her go on and on was almost a little captivating.

“It was… B’set, it must’ve been a day or so until I got the blasted thing back into proper shape. And what’s worse - it just would not stop breaking over and over again.” The Dragonborn let out a frustrated sigh. The memory was just so fresh in her mind, even if it was so long ago. “And… well, that’s how I learned about why properly heating the metal is important and got my father to start teaching me.”

The housecarl hummed in thought.  _ He must’ve been quite the talented craftsman back in the day, then. Though… Wait, how long ago was “back in the day”? _

“My Thane? How old were you when that happened?”

Saya looked at the ceiling, touching her chin as she attempted to remember. “It was… I think I was 14 when that happened. I was quite the disaster as a teen, I’m told.” She snickered.

Lydia only squinted at that. Her eyes scanned the Dunmer’s features as she continued to work. She didn’t look that old - maybe in her twenties? Though then again, some elven folk can live hundreds of years, can’t they. Better safe than sorry.

“And… How old are you now?” The Nord asked cautiously, as if stepping on cracked ice. She didn’t know how sensitive Saya was about that sort of thing and whether it’d be a question that could get her worked up… And what the consequences for that would be.

Saya didn’t so much as look away, however. “One hundred and ten. I’ve gotten some practice on my own, heh.” The mer said, a slight smirk on her face. Her red eyes were focused on the sword in her hands, however, so she didn’t see Lydia’s dumbfounded expression. Instead, she continued with the sharpening for maybe another minute or so before the grinding suddenly came to a complete halt. “Alright, here you go.”

Lydia needed to blink multiple times before her brain caught up. In front of her, Saya was offering her the finished sword. It was a straight one-handed blade, albeit rather wide. Peculiarly enough, it did not seem to have a fuller, completely flat along the side of the blade. Its edges closely followed the curve of the material, being noticeably thin - more like an axeblade or a greatsword’s edge rather than a standard sword. The grip was painted black, and the closer it got to the beginning of the blade the more it seemed to “merge” with the guard - the cross guard looking almost like a four-ended star with an oval tear in the middle.

“Wh- but why?” The housecarl’s first surprise at her Thane’s age passed mere moments ago only to be replaced with a second shock at receiving the new weapon.

Saya raised an eyebrow, reaching for the dagger of identical material that was on her table and pushing the pedal again to get the grindstone going and begin sharpening it. “What do you mean, ‘why’? Did you think I’d spend half a thousand drakes on materials to hang it on the wall or something?” Saya let out a quiet chuckle. “It’s for you.”

“I… Thank you.” The Nord forced out awkwardly as she looked at the ebony sword. She could see her own reflection in the flat side of the blade, clearly showing how her brows furrowed. It felt so… Strange. Exotic. Like it didn’t belong in her hands. She wanted to say something again but, as her gaze tore away from the sword, she saw that the Dunmer was already at it again, getting an ebony dagger into working order.

The housecarl watched the process with a dumbfounded, almost blank look, her thoughts someplace other than the process of smithing. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, hesitant on whether or not her words should be voiced or not. She shot her new weapon another look, and found her brows furrowing.  _ Some hero should be wielding this _ , she thought.  _ Some dragonslayer. Not a random soldier. _

Lydia's eyes moved to look at her hair, comparing the dark shine of her locks with the dark blue of the ebony. She had her hair compared to ebony before, when she was younger. Now, she felt like it looked nothing alike. She sighed, leaning back in the chair, the furniture producing a slight creak. At the move of a hand, her hair got brushed away, and the Nord continued to scan the room with a disinterested look.

That is, until she noticed a distinct piece of bone lying on the table. Her knuckles turned a lighter color as her grip around the sword unconsciously tightened.  _ That’s right… “Some dragonslayer”. _

“My Thane? How is it like to fight a dragon?” The question left Lydia’s lips quietly, a slight raspiness present in her voice. It’s as if she spoke on accident, almost. She didn’t bother mentally berating herself, though - what worth is it? The words have already been spoken after all.

The grinding continued at the same volume, but Saya’s voice was not drowned in the noise. Without turning her head or her eyes, she responded. “Pretty terrifying. But, in a weird way, it’s kind of... Exhilarating, I suppose. Why do you ask?”

The housecarl sighed, staying silent for a while. It’s not as if she had to think of an answer. She had one ready as soon as she heard the question, but it wasn’t one she felt comfortable with voicing. The metallic hiss of the metal being shaved off with a grindstone filled the room again.

It was a long minute before she spoke up again. “Your… Dragonborn nature. It is your destiny to hunt dragons, isn’t it? The way you can Shout just like them and devour their souls… It is all for the sake of making you a more capable hunter, right?”

Saya hummed. “Probably. Arngeir, the spokesperson of the Greybeards, told me that the Dragonborn are sent in times of great strife to set things right. The dragons returning is the strife this time, so it’s for that purpose that I am Dragonborn. I assume.” Her hands lifted the dagger off the grindstone as she closed one eye, carefully gauging the quality of her work before flipping it over to the other side and repeating the process.

“Are…” Lydia shifted in her chair, an unsure expression on her face. “...Are you sure that, when you face a dragon, you could kill it? That… Since it’s your duty, then you are capable of doing it?”

“No.” The reply was immediate. The housecarl flinched slightly, but did not interject. The movement of the grindstone paused for a second, and Saya turned to look at Lydia. “Every fight is a gamble. All that I can do is use what I have as best as I can. It’s the most any of us can do, really.”

Lydia’s eyes lowered back to the blade. The person staring back at her from the reflection could only be described as doubtful. Unfit. Her expression devolved into a scowl with every second she had to look at it.

“You don’t think you can help me kill a dragon.” Saya said. It wasn’t a question - it didn’t need to be. Lydia’s face alone was proof enough of that statement. “And now you’re setting more unrealistically high standards for yourself in your head thinking that you have to earn that weapon. Am I correct?”

There was no reply.

“You think that, because it’s your duty to be a housecarl, then you need to match and compliment me in everything that I do. You think that because I’m not a ‘regular person’,” - Saya lifted one of her hands to make an air quote just for emphasis. - “then you, too, need to be extraordinary or be considered a disappointment. Is that it?”

There was no reply. Only a barely audible deep breath.

“What’s your name?”

Lydia’s head lifted in confusion. Her eyes looked glassy, like her inner thought storm had sapped her of all energy to continue talking. Nevertheless, with a hoarse voice, she muttered. “Lydia.”

“Exactly. You’re Lydia.” Saya nodded, smiling and turning away to begin pushing the grinding stone’s pedal again. “You’re not Saya. You’re not Hrongar. You’re not Ysgramor. Do you know what that means?”

There was no reply. Lydia’s hands clenched into fists, her arms shaking. She bit her lip, and an unpleasant metallic taste met her tongue.

“It means you shouldn’t aim to match someone, or one-up someone, or to become someone. You’re you, Lydia.” The Dunmer said. The grinding of the dagger continued on for a while longer. The noise was becoming quieter, more bearable. The ebony edge had gained its signature dark purple glint. Satisfied with her work, the Dragonborn set it aside. “The only thing you have to be is yourself.”

There was no reply. Only quiet, strangled hiccups.

============

_ The sun wasn’t yet up when we moved out from Dawnstar. By the time we arrived at Whiterun it was late afternoon at most, so I decided to go to Breezehome’s basement and try to make something new. Wouldn’t want to get out of practice. _

_ After some thinking, I decided on an arming sword for Lydia and a single dagger for me. Both out of ebony. The sword, I’d wager, would do better than the steel blade she had until then (just a few fights with draugr were enough to get it full of nicks!). The dagger, on the other hand, I’ll probably put in my boot or something. I never found the Lunar Blade - the water was pretty deep, so I didn’t bother diving in, especially considering I’d have to go out into the Pale cold right after. It’ll do well enough as a replacement, and besides - a weapon with a little more flavor for stealth is never a bad idea. _

_ Anywho, I am completely beat. Lydia seemed like she was in a rather bad shape, too. I made us a simple something to eat and left her portion in her room. Hopefully she’ll eat it. _

_ Won’t know until tomorrow, I guess. _

============

**Morndas, the 1st of Heartfire, 4E201**

============

_ Alright, morning came and Lydia looked a lot better, thankfully. I won’t judge a girl for needing to cry it out sometimes. Done it far too many times myself to reserve the right to be judgemental. _

_ We got all set and went on our way to Riverwood before the sun hit its zenith. The settlement was as quiet as ever, other than the noticeable addition of a few soldiers in Whiterun’s garb patrolling about. Overall the people seemed to be a bit off, in some way. As if they were at ease, but somehow tense at the same time. But I suppose that kind of thing came with the guard reinforcements. On one hand, you feel safer knowing that someone is here to protect you in case things go south. On the other hand, the expansion of one’s defenses usually only means one thing - there’s a bigger enemy to defend from. _

_ Which wasn’t wrong, sadly. _

_ Now then, if memory serves, I have someone to pay a visit to. _

============

Softly, as if she was only half-sure whether or not she wanted to enter, Saya knocked on the wooden door. The forge was not yet lit outside Alvor’s house, so if she remembered correctly, then the family would be having breakfast around this time. Slight nervousness showed in her posture, she kept shifting from foot to foot. The Dunmer herself was unsure where the anxiety came from - it’s not as if they parted on bad terms, albeit she didn’t give much of a goodbye - but the fact that it was there remained, much to her distaste.

The Dragonborn instinctively straightened her back when she heard the hinges creak. Then, internally scolding herself, she relaxed her posture to the best of her ability as her eyes caught the glimpse of small, pale fingers grasping the door and opening it. Their owner was a little Nord girl of 11, maybe 12 years of age, with big brown eyes and long, braided blonde hair. At the sight of her guest, the girl’s mouth parted in a smile as she shouted:

  
“Mama, papa! Saya is here!”

Saya couldn’t help but snort and return the gleeful grin. “Hello to you too, Dorthe.” The Dunmer’s hand patted the girl’s head. She called out, soon after: “May I come in?”

A barking laugh came from the inside - Alvor, the father of the household. “Of course! Come on in, come on in.” The Dunmer then wasted no time, carefully stepping indoors and shutting the wooden door behind herself. Indoors it was noticeably warmer - despite it being only the first day of autumn, the Skyrim weather was not so gentle as to let the denizens forget about the upcoming winter. 

The family was sitting at a simple table, a meal of fried chicken and some vegetables filling every plate. Notably, however, there were only three of them - one man was missing from the table.

“Where’s Hadvar?” Saya asked, the answer however finding its way into her thoughts almost instantly after the question is voiced. “Already off-”

“-to fight for the Empire, yes.” Sigrid finished, sighing. “He left a few days after you did. We tried to convince him to at least stay the week, but he wouldn’t hear a word of it.”

The Dunmer nodded, pulling up a chair and sitting down away from the table. "Sounds like something he'd do, alright… What about the things here? With the guards and everything?" 

"They're a great help." Alvor piped up. "We just had a small… Attack. Without these lads, I don't think there would have been much left of Riverwood."

"An attack? Here? Why?"

Alvor shrugged. "A pack of vampires. There's been talk of some vampire hunters rebuilding a fort near Riften. Call themselves Dawnguard, I think. I'd imagine such a rumor would rustle the nests of whatever bloodsuckers thought themselves safe as long as they kept quiet."

Saya nodded, her brows furrowing. "And now that there's someone who is actively smoking them out, they decided to go big and get some cattle." These were definitely worrying news. She had heard of this kind of thing in inns and from guards and such, but it seemed like little more than a rumor up until now. If it's enough to rally up the vampires, though, then evidently these self-proclaimed ‘hunters’ weren't all talk.

"Thank you very much for notifying the Jarl when you did." Sigrid said, somewhat diluting the grim mood of the room. At the elf’s quizzical expression, she explained: "Some of the guards mentioned someone like you being granted a title. It was you, wasn’t it?"

The Dragonborn gave a small awkward smile at the comment. "Yeah, it's true. Oh! That reminds me!" Quickly, Saya slung the backpack off her shoulders and began rummaging through it. Dorthe, as would be expected of a curious child, was trying her darndest to look over the table and into the pack, almost falling into her plate in the process before she sat back down. 

The Dunmer rummaged through the inner compartments for a few seconds. Then, she pulled out something from the bag, her closed fist concealing the item. "Dorthe, could you come here please? I brought you a little something.”

The girl quickly hopped off the chair at the mention of her name. The Dragonborn’s hand opened to reveal a large ivory tooth hanging on a leather string, the sharp end of it purposefully dulled to prevent anyone from hurting themselves on accident.

While the child beamed with wonder, the adults’ eyes widened in shock. Mouth agape, Alvor stood up from his seat. “Is that…?”

The Dunmer couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, one does not become a Thane without performing some kind of feat, now do they?”   
  
Dorthe’s smile probably could not get any brighter than it did when Saya carefully locked the accessory around the child’s neck. One of Mirmulnir’s fangs had now found its new home.

============

_ After a quick chat with the family I double checked the note from Ustengrav. Attic room… last I checked, The Sleeping Giant doesn't have a second floor, much less an attic. Whoever wanted me to come here probably works at the inn or paid the innkeeper so that they'd tip them off when I'm in the right place.  _

_ Considering there's no attic, Delphine gave me a two person bedroom - the only one that wasn't occupied thanks to the influx of guards, who have yet to construct a proper outpost or barrack or… Anything, really. I also made a point to ask her if anyone unusual came by, but supposedly the Giant didn't have many patrons other than the aforementioned lawbringers. All things considered, the suspicion keeps leaning towards the inn: if nobody came by, then the note sender was someone from the village; alternatively, Delphine is in on it and is lying. In either case the odds aren't in her favor.  _

_ I'll try to stay up later tonight - maybe I'll get to catch whoever this mysterious thief is. Dinner should be coming in just a few minutes, but somehow I don't feel all too hungry.  _

============

Saya gave a little chuckle. Her eyes had just darted to see if Lydia was occupying herself with anything, only to find the housecarl peacefully passed out in bed. Thankfully, the Dunmer convinced her to take off the armor before eating, so at least she wouldn't wake up sweaty and aching tomorrow.

The sound of a coal stick scribbling across the paper was somewhat soothing to the ears. It was already dark outside, and most people would soon be finishing up their suppers and heading to bed. As such, there was almost no noise to disturb the mood of the room. Saya was just about finishing up her note writing for the day, lying on her belly and kicking her feet as idle amusement. Her eyes occasionally moved away from the journal and onto the meal she had been diligently ignoring for some time now. Back when it was just served, her nerves were still on high alert, so she didn't eat out of paranoia. Now however, the hunger had begun to set in, only to face an enemy stronger than paranoia - procrastination. "Maybe just a few more minutes…  _ Then _ I'll definitely eat", the Dunmer would say for the umpteenth time. And then she never did. 

Gradually, the writing of letters and the striking out of achieved objectives had slowed down to a complete halt. The scribbling had stopped, and now Saya's crimson eyes wandered over the text, refreshing her memory on the tasks at hand. With that white noise gone, the sound of an odd thrush singing its song to the moons filled her mind. The flow of the river, calm and stable. Ever so faint, the distant splashing of the waterfalls downstream.

And then, the creaking of the door. 

Almost a little too readily, Saya all but leaped off the bed and sparked a flame that compressed into a small fireball in her palm. It soon dissipated, however, when she was met with the surprised expression of Delphine. The tension in the Dunmer's features quickly sapped away and turned into tiredness, as she mustered a quiet apology. "Sorry. Thought you were someone else. I'll take out the dishes soon."

The Breton gave her a peculiar look, to which Saya paid no mind. The elf sat back down onto her bed, reaching for the tray with her meal. "Someone's jumpy today. Expecting guests?" The innkeeper attempted to break the silence, producing a dry chuckle from the Dunmer. 

"Maybe, just not the kind you'd want in your room in the middle of the night." She said, reaching for the spoon. One her hand found the utensil, she sank it into the soup and brought it up to her lips.

“You know, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The Dunmer’s hand froze. She peered slowly towards the doorway, and Delphine was still standing there. The door was closed behind her, and she was looking Saya right in the eyes as she stepped closer. “Not unless you want to end up like your friend over there.”

The Dragonborn’s eyes widened as she stared at her housecarl, sound asleep. Lydia was not usually asleep this early. She’d be diligently waiting for Saya to fall asleep first unless they specifically talked about the Dunmer taking first watch. It was… Wrong.

A chill ran down Saya’s spine. “You… Poisoned the food.”

“Just a strong sleeping aid, she’ll be fine in the morning. I had no way of knowing which one of you would take which portion, so both are spiked. If both of you fell asleep, then I’d have simply carried you away, and then we could talk.  _ Privately _ .” The word was forced through gritted teeth, emphasized with a glare in Lydia’s direction. “That is, if you are who I think you are.”

The two women stared each other down for a very long few moments before Saya asked. “Did you write the note?” Delphine nodded, a somewhat condescending, if not commanding look seeping through despite her small stature. It was as if she was not listening to what the Dunmer has to say, but rather  _ allowing _ her to talk. “Yes. I am Dragonborn.”   
  


“Good. You’ll have a chance to prove that soon enough. Follow me.” Without a moment’s wait, the innkeeper then turned around and went for the exit. Saya quickly put the food tray away onto the table, hastily slid into her shoes, and followed the Breton.

The inn was mainly empty outside. There were no patrons other than a drunk Embry who fell asleep on the table, still kind of holding a mug half-full with ale. Orgnar was wiping a cup clean, seemingly not caring about the sleeping customer, but raising his head as soon as he saw Delphine and Saya leave the room. He and Delphine exchanged a glance and a nod, and no questions were asked from him as the Breton opened the door to her room.

Once the Dunmer closed the door behind them, a key flashed in Delphine’s hand. She opened her closet, and immediately after inserted the key somewhere in the side of the piece of furniture - which, curiously, appeared to be nailed to the wall with no space in between them. With a click, some kind of contraption seemed to activate, and right afterwards the back wall of the closet slid to the side, revealing a passage hidden in the wall - a stairway leading into a basement.

Delphine gave Saya a head tilt in the passage’s direction, and soon both of them were inside. It was a relatively sizable room, with walls of stone supported by timber pillars. In the far corner, Saya could spot an alchemist station with a variety of reagents stored in many jars, pouches, and displays on the wall-mounted shelves. To her left was a somewhat impressive collection of books, a lot of them stacked on what looked like a small coffee table - meant for a drink that Saya has not had the supposed pleasure of tasting before, but has heard good things about - while others served both as filling and decor on the many bookshelves, the top level being just under the ceiling. On her right, was a somewhat impressive mini-armory consisting of a mannequin-mounted set of very finely-made leather armor, and a weapon rack featuring a bow not unlike that of an Imperial soldier, along with a set of slightly greenish blades - a dagger and a broadsword, both made of orichalcum. 

Last but not least, there was the table in the room's center, a small chair standing nearby with a brown leather backpack hanging off the back. Again, on the table edges lay various books in bindings new and old. In the center was a very large map of Skyrim, the kind you'd see on a war room's table rather than a traveler pack. Different colored markings with scribbled notes were all over it, most of them concentrated on the northeast edge of the province. In the empty space on the southwest, where Hammerfell lay, was a large, engraved stone tablet. A very… Familiar stone tablet. 

"...The Dragonstone.." Saya realized. The hooded figure, who so quickly departed upon her arrival. "It was you. You're Farengar's partner."

Delphine gave the Dunmer a small smirk as she put her hands on the table. "Smarter than you look. That's good. If your identity is easy to guess, you don't do a good enough job at hiding it."

Saya crossed her arms. She wasn't sure if the statement was simply a backhanded compliment or a warning. “You certainly didn’t spare any effort into concealing yours.”   
  


Just as easily as it appeared, the smirk disappeared from the Breton’s face. “It was necessary. There are enemies all around, the times when the words ‘too careful’ existed have long passed by now. I needed to make sure you weren’t one of their spies.”

“Spies? How do I know you aren’t another one of the insane folks who attacked me?” Saya’s temper was beginning to show itself. She tapped her foot, brows furrowing in irritation. Delphine gave her a look that bordered a glare, and turned to rummage through a backpack that was hanging off her chair, looking for something while she talked.

“If you’re talking about the masked people who followed me into the tomb, then I can tell you now I’m not one of them. Though it’s possible they were trying to find you the same way I did, even if not for the same reasons.” Delphine fished a small object out of the pack, putting it on the table with a small thud. A horn. “If the Greybeards are as predictable as they always are, you were looking for this?”

Saya reached for the horn and took it in her hands, shaking her head in confusion. This… This was it. The Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. “Why are you giving me this?”

“Because the only use I had for it was to get to you, and without the Horn those monks probably wouldn’t let you into their little sect, which would limit your potential greatly… That is,  _ if _ you are Dragonborn.”

Saya took a step back. “You mean you don’t believe me? Who even are you?”

Delphine’s eyes got cold. She was obviously not very fond of being questioned but was attempting to be patient for the sake of whatever plan she had brewing in her head. “I’m part of a group that’s been looking for a Dragonborn for a long, long time.” She said, leaning onto the table.

“Why?”

“Because we remember what others forgot.” The words were sharp, almost as if fed by some kind of poorly concealed frustration. “Whenever anyone hears ‘Dragonborn’, their minds instantly jump to the now-gone Dragonborn Emperors. Throne warmers, and nothing more. My people know who you really are.  _ What _ you really are.”

Delphine swiftly pulled an iron dagger off her belt and stabbed it into the map. When she let go, the blade had sunk so deep into the wood that it stayed straight up, like some kind of oversized marker.

“Dragonborn are the ultimate dragon hunters. You’re the ones who possess the gift of their weapons and the ability to devour their souls. Your kind are the only ones who can  _ truly _ kill a dragon.” The Breton said, every word spoken like a captain’s briefing, precise and deliberate. “And that is precisely why I need you to prove you’re Dragonborn.”

Saya scratched her chin. Her vision of Delphine the innkeeper had been shattered quite some time ago, so now she couldn’t help but wonder how much she knew, and how much she was actually willing to say. “...And what’s the part you’re not telling me?”

Delphine gave a small, almost wry smile. “Dragons aren’t just coming back. They’re coming back  _ to life. _ ” She pointed at the different spots that were circled on the map, and Saya looked at each of them. Wait, weren’t those… “The dragon burial mounds. I had gone to multiple of them, and there were many empty spots.” She pointed at the ones marked in red. Curiously, they were all around the same area.

“...They're almost all around Eastmarch? But why?”

“No idea. But if this pattern continues, I think I know where the next resurrection will happen.”

“Where?”

Delphine pointed at one of the black circles on the map, a red cross drawn inside it. “Kynesgrove. There’s an ancient mound up there, containing the corpse of a dragon killed sometime in the First Era, named Sahloknir. We’re going to go there, kill it, you will devour its soul, and hopefully we’ll get a glimpse of whoever is behind all of this.”

Saya squinted. In her thought was a swirling mess of different emotions ranging from distaste to honest-to-gods respect. As much as she didn’t like to be ordered around, she had to admit that the plan did make sense. And if Delphine was right about the dragon resurrections…

“Alright. When are we going, then?”

For once, Delphine’s smile didn’t seem to have any malice in it. “Tomorrow after breakfast. The earlier we move out, the earlier we arrive, and if we do it early enough in the morning we’ll be at Kynesgrove by Middas’ evening.”

Saya put her hand to her chin, thinking. “And what about Lydia?”

“Will she be a hindrance?”

Saya blinked, slightly taken aback. “I… Don’t think so?”

Delphine shrugged. “Then take her with you. A little experience in fighting dragons will go a long way if you’re gonna keep travelling together.” Her tone was rather nonchalant now that she got the ‘recruiting’ out of the way. She passed by the Dunmer, heading up the stairs and out into her room. “I suggest you go to sleep now. I want to spend as little time as we can on this trip, so you’ll need all the rest you can get.”

Saya nodded, stepping outside as well and heading for the room exit. Her hand stopped when she was just about to grab the handle, though. Her head turned and she spoke. “Oh, and one more thing, may I ask a question?”

Delphine, who was in the middle of taking off her boots for the night, answered without looking up. “What is it?”

“Are you always this friendly?”

The innkeeper stopped dead in her tracks. Slowly, her head lifted up, silently staring at Saya. The Dunmer only had to look at such a death glare once before she shrugged and opened the door.

“You know what? That’s fair. Goodnight.”

And then she left. 

============

**Turdas, the 2nd of Hearthfire, 4E201**

============

_ It took quite the hot moment to explain to Lydia why exactly we were going to go with Delphine to kill a dragon that may or may not be there. Obviously she was against the idea at first, but she did give in once I mentioned the horn. I'll need to give it back at one point, now they I think about it… Probably on the way back. If this dragon has already been raised then the time we have is very limited. Definitely not enough to scale a mountain and then drag ourselves through half the province.  _

_ Oh, Lydia says she's done putting on her armor. Time to move out.  _

_ \------------------------ _

_ I'm not going to lie, I'm both impressed and scared at Delphine's prowess. I'm all but convinced she's got some background that she's not telling me about. Though I can't say I blame her. This kind of paranoia and secrecy doesn't come from nowhere.  _

_ She's afraid. Jumpy. Suspicious. I don't think she even knows how to let her guard down anymore. I don't even know if that'd be a good thing to do. _

_ We set up camp a little ways away from Kynesgrove. Mixwater Mill, I think the place is called. Pleasant folks, didn't let us in but said they don't mind if we set up under the watermill roof. I’m thankful even for that: clouds have been gathering up for a while now, guessing it will be snowing tonight. _

_ Now, where was my sleeping bag… _

============

**Middas, the 3rd of Hearthfire, 4E201**

============

It was quiet. For almost an hour, the three had been walking in complete silence. Saya’s hands were still warm from the magical flames she used to dry herself and Delphine off - once they had set out in the morning, the realization quickly came that the nearest bridge to the other side of White River would be near Windhelm, which would be a 4 hour long hook that they could not afford to make. Instead, after finding a shallow enough part in the river, they swam across one by one and dried off on the other side.

Delphine was leading the way. Occasionally, she’d gaze down at the map in her hands to make sure they were still on course, but she never stopped. Right behind her were Saya and Lydia, the housecarl holding a bow in hand with an arrow in the other. The Nord in particular has been very quiet during the entire trip. Any of Saya’s attempts to make her speak her mind so far had proven unsuccessful, so she settled for the deafening silence instead. By now, though, the Dunmer had gotten quite tired of the stressful atmosphere hanging around the three constantly.

“Are you feeling alright, Lydia?”

“Huh?” Lydia’s head jerked, as if shaken out of some kind of trance. She blinked, before giving a small, half-hearted nod. “Oh, yes, my Thane.”

Saya shook her head. Her words spoke of one thing, but the dismissive tone conveyed the opposite. She didn’t push the issue, however. Doing so would only leave her housecarl even more agitated.

“I hope you’re a better fighter than you are a liar.” Both of the women instantly turned their attention towards Delphine. The Breton didn’t so much as look in their direction. “If not, you might want to turn around.”

Saya took an unsteady breath. Not this again. “Delphine-”

“I wasn’t talking to you.” Tap, tap, tap, tap. The innkeeper’s gait was as even and calm as it was before she began speaking. Her eyes were focused elsewhere - on the small tavern-like building off in the distance. Not much longer… “I have an idea of the level of skill you have already, seeing as how you got through Bleak Falls Barrow and Ustengrav. Your friend, though, has not displayed any such feat yet. And if she doesn’t think that she can be trusted with my life, then I’d rather she leave now instead of being a liability.”

Lydia’s grip tightened around her bow. Her expression noticeably darkened. “I don’t know who you think you are, and I don’t care to know it. I can fight just fine.”

“Then act like it.” Tap. Finally, Delphine paused her walk to turn around. Despite being almost a full head shorter than the housecarl, she was staring her straight in the eye. “When I look at you, I don’t see a hunter. I see a scared puppy who thinks herself a war hound just because her master is around. You’re afraid.”

“I’m not-”   
  


“You  _ are _ .” She took a step towards the black haired Nord. Unblinking, she still peered straight into Lydia’s eyes. “And if you can’t control it, you  _ will _ get yourself killed, if not all of us. A moment’s hesitation in battle makes the difference between life and death. An arrow shot too late, a strike delayed too much, a grip not tight enough - anything. You're not fighting a bar drunk. You will be fighting a  _ dragon _ . And if you have time to worry about whether or not you’ll fuck it up, you better spend it on trying to avoid that.”

“Uh, I don’t mean to interrupt…”

Saya’s voice cut in before Lydia could think of a retort. The two women turned their gaze towards the Dunmer, who was standing ahead of them, staring off into the distance. The Nord and Breton exchanged a distasteful glance, silently agreeing that the conversation was not over yet, but that they were willing to put it aside for the moment.

“What is it?” Delphine asked, standing beside the Dragonborn and turning her head in the same direction. What she saw was answer enough, though. The bleak blue sky above them was darkening - shifting to a dark, ominous grey. The clouds pulled together, almost spiraling into a center spot, and the rustling of distant trees made it known that wind was picking up greatly. And it all culminated above a small settlement, some few minutes of walking away from them - Kynesgrove. Whatever sunlight washed over the province was blocked, plunging the area into shadow, and the dense stratus above was seemingly beginning to pelt the area with slowly intensifying snowfall.

For just a moment, Saya could swear she saw the glimmer of black wings flapping in the eye of the brewing storm.

“We need to move. Now.” The urgency in the Dunmer’s tone left no room for response. Without a moment’s hesitation, she broke into a run, heading straight towards the grove.

Without a word, the other two followed, plunging the travelling group into tense silence once again.

\------------------------

_ “Sahloknir, ziil gro dovah ulse.” _

Three breaths were held in fear and anticipation. When the group had arrived at Kynesgrove, the small snowfall had turned into a full-blown storm. The wind was howling, and soon after arrival packs were opened to procure thick cloaks to cover their owners’ bodies from the furious weather. Hidden behind trees and rocks, six eyes were all on sharp lookout for the source of the ominous, growling chant.

_ “Sahloknir, alok nol praan. Hin thur uth ful. Ziil gro dovah ulse.” _

An arrow was already nocked in Lydia’s bow, held with steady hands, contrasting her shaking breath. Delphine’s pale skin whitened even further on the knuckles as her fingers wrapped around the handles of both of her blades. Saya’s hand was hovering just shy of Stormblade’s grip, prepared to draw at the slightest notice. The wind continued to howl around them, like a woeful choir of the skies themselves gasping in horror. And it split in an instant by an earth-shattering roar.

_ “ _ ** _FUS RO DAH!_ ** _ ”  _ The words echoed and resonated inside the mortals’ eardrums like an explosion of the very air around them. A wave of force, like an invisible cannonball, impacted the mound around which they were gathered, blasting away dirt and rock as if they were dust, turning the grave into a crater. Saya peeked around her tree, and her mouth parted in a silent gasp - the sight of ivory bones was unmistakable even in such awful a storm. And not just that, but they were almost... Glowing.  _ “Sahloknir! Hon faal Fenjuntiid! Alok fah aam ahrk fah nir! Ziil gro dovah ulse!” _

The Dunmer’s eyes widened. If the others were holding their breaths before, then now that very breath was stuck inside of their chests, an invisible hand of terror pressing on their throats at the sight of small tongues of light beginning to emerge from the skeleton inside the mound. They began to… Tremble, almost. As if resonating with something. Someone.

A faint flap of wings reached their hearing, like the echo of distant noise washing over the ground. Again, and again, and again, each movement created gusts of wind that roused the dirt and snow. The howling got louder and louder, like heaving breaths inhaled between desperate, suffocating sobs. The flapping became gradually more audible, as if nearing the mound, and then…

The wind’s cries stopped. Like snow melting on the ground, the gale-born veil slowly shedded and fell, revealing the pure darkness it concealed. The previously unfindable source of the demonic voice lost its invisible cloak. Twin horns that curled unnaturally, like maimed roots; serrated, spiked jaws with no scaled lips to cover the jagged teeth; a tail of thorns, swinging left and right like a maul; the wings, spiderwebs of solidified tar weaved between clawed, thin finger bones; and of course, the eyes - the blood-red sparks with not so much as a slit to serve as a pupil, shining even through the walls of snow.

_ “Qethiil thaarn. Sleniil vokrii. Ziil gro dovah ulse. Ziil gro  _ ** _zu’u_ ** _ ulse. Alok… Ahrk aav zu’u!”  _ The storm’s gales began to gather, snowflakes slowing their fall and rising up again into the dragon’s maw as its chest expanded in a great inhale. And then, as if a ripple in reality itself, its Voice tore across the skyscape in a terrible Shout:  _ “ _ ** _SLEN, TIID, VO!_ ** _ ” _

Like smouldering embers being fanned, each word brought out the light from within the bones. Small sparks and rays grew larger and brighter, and the skeleton opened its jaw to release a strangled roar as the limbs dug themselves out of whatever dirt remained. The energy began to ebb and flow more freely from the corpse as its restraints were less and less. The blinding white, orange, and blue all weaved together, knitting itself like fiber, revealing muscle, skin, and scale once the shell of light cracked and began to shed.

Sahloknir’s body was a light grey color, as if crafted from dozens upon dozens of small pebbles. Its ivory horns had a curve to them - albeit more natural one than the black dragon’s - growing forwards out of the skull to then bend down and point at whatever was in front of the creature, not unlike a bull. Its back was adorned with dozens of spikes, as white as the beast’s own teeth, while the wings contrasted them with a dark brown that spread along the dragon’s spine and shoulders like moss on a boulder. The tail was lined with two rows of spikes that grew smaller and smaller towards the end before splitting out of the sides, forming an almost arrowhead-shaped tip.

The dragon took a deep breath before it opened its eyes. They looked feral, and their color was a dull green, like the spruce needles, while the pupil was a barely visible vertical slit. Its jaws parted, giving a brief glimpse of the black gums and tongue before it began to speak.  _ “Alduin… Thuri. Zu’u hon beliil. Boan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik?” _

Despite the creature possessing no lips to move, it almost looked like the black dragon grinned at its kin’s words.  _ “Geh, Sahloknir, kaali mir. Nuz nu…”  _ Its neck bent around, and much to Saya’s terror, she felt the dragon’s eyes drill right into her. She froze, unsure of what to do.  _ "Togatiil wah wonun los… Maar. Bo, losei Dovahkiin. Mu ont mindok hi los het.” _

Silence. Saya clutched Stormblade's handle, her heartbeat echoed in her ears and her breath shaking, as was her whole body. 'Dovahkiin', it said. It knew she was here.  _ It already fucking knew. _

Then, she heard a long, drawn out sigh. "Must I use this… Crude  _ joorre  _ speech for you to listen to me? Come out, you and your  _ fahdonne…  _ Your friends."

Unsure, Saya’s eyes darted to Lydia, who was  _ this _ close to dropping the arrow from her trembling hand. Then, to Delphine, who had unsheathed both of her weapons. The two exchanged a look, and, with a head tilt, the Breton signalled Saya to go first. And so, the Dunmer took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the tree, the grass and snow crunching under her boots.

“Quite the ritual you’ve got here. I like the part with the ominous chanting.” She spoke. Although her body was tense, she tried her best to at least calm down her mind. Her eyes scanned Sahloknir, looking for any weak spots she could exploit, but each inspection only gave her frustration at her soon-to-be-opponent’s capabilities. The dragon only sneered.   
  
“Chanting…” A low chuckle came from above. “Chanting is what you  _ joorre  _ do when dabbling in  _ zunsewuth _ … Weapons of ancient times that you do not understand. When  _ dov _ speak, even  _ qethsegol _ , the very bones of the earth, shall obey.”

Saya’s brows furrowed. She raised her blade, the metal glinting with whatever faint sunlight made its way through the clouds. “Well, in that case I suppose I’m lucky that my bones are mine alone. And it’s going to take more than just words to make them obey.”

The black dragon was silent, staring her down with its blank red eyes. Then, it began to… Tremble? As if spasming, its shoulders shook, its maw opening wide as a series of short, guttural growls came from deep inside its throat, louder and louder each time.

It was… Laughing.

Suddenly, the movement of the creature’s wings ceased, and it landed with a loud crash as all the snow, grass, and cold dirt got crushed beneath its weight. The dragon stood on its hind limbs and turned around, using its two wings as supports before leaning down. Like a snake, its neck arched while the head lowered close to the ground, its eyes on the same level as Saya’s head, yet its chin almost scratching the ground beneath as it spoke.

_ “Kah mey. _ Of all things dragon, it seems pride is the only one that you possess.” The monstrous beast stared her down, its two scarlet eyes peering into the Dunmer’s own. Its jaw moved, opening ever so slightly in a matter resembling a grin.  _ “Zu’u koraav nid nol dov do hi.”  _ Saya’s expression didn’t shift a bit. Her glare continued to intensify, burrowing into the dragon with a deep, smouldering hate, but there came no verbal response - a fact that the dragon noticed and found most amusing, judging by another growling chuckle that escaped it. “You do not even know our tongue, do you. Such… Arrogance, to claim for yourself the proud name of  _ dovah _ .”

The head then rose back, away from the ground, and the neck bent around for its owner to turn its attention to Sahloknir.  _ “Sahloknir, fahdoni. _ Prove your usefulness to me once more.  _ Krii daar joorre.” _

As the black dragon’s wings began to flap again, each swing brought a wave of wind, threatening to throw Saya off her feet. Snow and dirt got swept up, rising in a cloud before her eyes. The beast took off, giving the Dragonborn one more condescending look before it took a deep breath, and released another shout.  _ “ _ ** _FEIM, ZII, GRON._ ** _ ”  _ The wind around it seemed to almost pull close, like the birthing moments of a hurricane, growing more and more intense, opaque even… And then it vanished. 

Saya blinked. It couldn’t have simply disappeared, right? But the fact remained that the winds it created completely disappeared, and the cloud of dust and snowflakes that obscured the Dunmer’s vision began to fall…

To reveal a snarling dragon behind itself, its chest full with a breath ready to be released.

“ **WULD!** ” Saya’s somewhat panicked Shout could not have been more timely. Her body vanished into a gust of wind and she dashed past the dragon. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she attempted to shout, but the ache in her throat instead turned it into a shrill scream: “LOOK OUT!”

**_“FUS, RO DAH!”_** An all-too-familiar shout exploded from the beast’s mouth. Lydia and Delphine had both jumped as soon as they saw Sahloknir’s jaws open, and not a second too soon. The shockwave released had the force of a hurricane contained in a single blast, uprooting trees and sending rock and earth flying away.

Sahloknir produced a grin at the result of his work, but didn’t get to enjoy it for long as a whistling arrow flew his way, stabbing at his neck. Delphine came dashing out from behind a tree, her sword and dagger gleaming green with the sunlight. The dragon raised its head, its jaws opening wide to bite her, but she suddenly dropped into a slide, instead drawing the blades across his stomach before coming out under the monster’s wing.

The dragon’s shoulders heaved in a sigh before its teeth bared in a savage grin.  _ “Raanne krif…  _ Good. I was concerned you wouldn’t put up a struggle.” Like a whip, its tail sweeped behind it, slamming into Saya as she could only release a strained cough. Sahloknir raised his wings, standing tall on his legs as he took another breath and released yet another shout.

** _“FO, KRAH DIIN.”_ ** A blast of cold got released from the dragon’s jaws, and as its neck turned, it coated the ground beneath itself with ice before being aimed at Delphine. The Breton’s eyes widened and she turned to run behind the dragon, the back of her boots growing white with hoarfrost from the barely-avoided wave of ice.

The breath was cut short, however, as yet another arrow had found its way between the beast’s scales. Once its murky green eyes locked on Lydia, she came rushing out from behind cover before another blast of force tore the tree she was hiding behind clean out of the ground. Her ears were ringing and the vapor from her shaky breath got in her eyes as she ran. Sahloknir’s head lowered again and its jaws opened, sharp teeth baring to bite into the Nord. She looked back, and in a moment of panic her hands grasped her bow as one would a club and smashed the dragon across the face, but a sickening snap and a low growl from the dragon proved that to be ineffective. The beast lunged forward and its jaws snapped shut, ripping the bow out of Lydia’s grip before throwing it aside.

The housecarl reached behind her back, quickly taking hold of her shield and putting up a block to protect herself from the dragon’s teeth. Sahloknir went in for yet another crushing bite and Lydia stumbled back, falling onto her rear and shutting her eyes tightly. The pain never came, however, as a sharp ache in the dragon’s thigh procured a frustrated growl from it. When the monster turned around, it saw Delphine, who stuck her orichalc dagger into the leg of the beast before once again making a run for it, this time heading for its head.

“You alright?” The black-haired Nord turned her head to see her Thane offering her hand. Lydia grasped it and stood up, shaking her head. The Dunmer sighed, turning towards Sahloknir. “If that thing gets up in the air, we’ll have a rat’s chance in Oblivion of getting it back down. That’s where I’ll need you, alright?”

Lydia rubbed her eyes with her first, blinking multiple times to shake away the involuntary tears that had formed in the corners of her eyes. “Did you have a plan?”

Saya smiled. “When I give you the signal, put up your shield, and as soon as you hear something hit it, swing up as fast as you can. You’ll know when.” With that, the Dragonborn hastily ran off towards Sahloknir. Delphine had left multiple tracks in the snow where she had rolled to avoid the creature's fangs. Another slash of the Breton’s sword across the dragon’s jaw drew a wide cut across its scales, blood trickling from beneath.

Enraged, Sahloknir dug his claws into the ground, chest heaving to prepare for another Shout. Saya did not miss it, however, as the very next moment she had done the same thing, the words “ **FUS, RO!** ” erupting from her throat and releasing a gale of force that impacted the dragon’s ribs. The air got knocked out of Sahloknir with a pitiful cough, and his eyes grew bloodshot. Wildly, he began to thrash about with his tail swinging around like a whip and his head releasing a feral roar. Both of Sahloknir’s wings unfurled outward in an effort to swat the two mortals away from before the dragon began to forcefully flap them, leaping into the air with its hind legs. Saya and Delphine quickly rose to their feet, Lydia rushing to their side. Their eyes were all locked on the dragon above them who was flying in circles, doing naught but staring them down.

“What is it doing?” Lydia asked. Her grip around the shield’s handle got tighter.

Saya’s hand sparked with flame, a fireball forming in her palm. “Preparing. Don’t let your guard down.”

Sahloknir’s eyes darted around the crater that was his dragon mound less than minutes ago, and he grinned. His chest began to swell with air again, and his head turned skywards. As his jaws opened, another Shout ripped through the clouds above, echoing across the skyscape.  **“** ** _FIIK, LO, SAH!”_ **

The clouds began to pull together, covering the empty void formed by the shout. The condensed vapor grew darker and darker, and the shockwave from the dragon’s voice continued to ripple like waves from a rock dropped into still water. And then, the three hunters heard a choir of roars come from above. They looked like formless masses at first, ectoplasm dripping from the sky, but as the glow within them grew brighter and brighter, those cocoons split and spread their wings, their shape defining. All at once, three of these amorphous masses dropped down around Delphine, Lydia, and Saya. And when the dust settled, they each saw a copy of Sahloknir staring at them - but ghastly, transparent. A phantom.

Delphine was the first to react. Rushing forward, she lunged at the phantom with her blade. The metal sank into the ghost like into water, and it erupted with a pained cry before dissolving into ectoplasm. Noticing that, Saya released the fireball held in her hand, sending it straight into the phantom’s maw. The fire burned on the inside of the creature before exploding violently, tearing the ghastly body apart and leaving it to dissipate.

For Lydia, however, it did not go as easily. Her trembling hand reached quickly for her sword only for her to look up and see the ghost’s open maw. Reflexively, she put up her shield, to instead be met with a wave of force as the creature Shouted:  ** _“FUS, RO DAH!”_ **

The Nord got swept off her feet, sent flying by the sheer force of the squall. Delphine barely had the time to turn around before the housecarl’s armored body slammed into her, knocking both of them onto the ground. Saya looked at the phantom, who grinned and began to flap its wings, taking flight, and then back at the other two. With a frustrated grunt, she ran to the other two. “Can both of you stand?” She extended her hand.

Lydia groaned, grabbing the hand and pulling herself up. She shook her head to help return to her senses, disoriented from the impact. “I… I think so, my Thane.”

Saya nodded, her gaze moving to the Delphine. The woman got up on her own and wiped her mouth, a streak of red visible on her hand from the split lip. “Don’t look at me. Look at the big bastard up there.”

The Dunmer turned her attention to Sahloknir and his phantom. Once the ghost had reached his master, he appeared to be preparing something. It leaned forward, spreading its wings, and its bright white eyes seemed to have locked onto the group. Then, it dawned on her. “EVERYONE, SPREAD OUT!”

The phantom had given its wings one more swing before stopping the movement, plunging downward before gliding straight towards them at such speeds that its ethereal glow almost seemed to lag behind, and its jaws opened to release a stream of cold that froze the ground solid just as the three had reacted to Saya’s command. When they looked back up, the phantom had already taken off skyward again, and it was making a turn to go in for another dive.

That’s when it clicked for Saya. Suddenly, she turned toward Lydia. “Lydia! Remember what I said earlier?!” She pointed to a spot just a few meters off to the side. “Stand back there and do it!”

The housecarl quickly scrambled over to get into position, while Saya’s eyes were locked on the phantom. It turned around… It looked at them again… It opened its mouth… Now. “ **WULD!** ”

With a Shout, the Dunmer’s body burst into a gale once again, carrying her with incredible momentum straight towards her housecarl. Just before contact, she materialized again, putting both of her feet forward as she flew straight into the shield, almost making the Nord slide back from the impact. Then, as instructed, Lydia grabbed the shield with both of her arms and swung it upward with all her might, sending Saya flying up into the air with whatever momentum she still had left over.

The phantom was just at the lowest point of its dive before it suddenly saw the Dunmer come into its view, and the next thing it knew - two hands had latched onto one of its back spines. The ghost roared and continued flying upwards, hoping to throw off the unwanted passenger, but then a sharp stabbing sensation brought an end to that effort as Saya plunged Stormblade into the doppelganger’s back, making it fade from existence halfway through its flight to Sahloknir.

The dragon looked puzzled to say the least, seeing the small elf being all but flung towards it. Before he could react, though, she had already vanished again - only for him to feel the pain in his leg sharpen again. Saya had grabbed onto the dagger that Delphine left in the enormous beast’s leg, holding onto it like a mountain climber would on a cliff, and then pulled herself up, stabbing Stormblade higher into Sahloknir’s thigh. The dragon was not at all happy about it, as it began to flap its wings wildly and flailing its tail around to try and shake her off, but she held on as tightly as she could.

“Don’t miss, don’t miss…” She murmured under her breath, grabbing onto Stormblade’s large handle with both hands and pulling herself up, stepping onto the flat side of the blade and jumping yet again - this time grabbing onto the spikes growing out of Sahloknir’s back. From the ground, Lydia and Delphine could see the dragon thrashing about in the air, shaking its head like a maul and erupting with torrents of ice and wind aimlessly. One foot in front of another, Saya grasped one spike, then the next, then the one after that. Soon, he felt gloved fingers grasping him by the base of his neck.

_ “MEY! ZU’U FEN DU HI KOPRAAN! ZU’U FEN AL HI! HI, AHRK PAH DO DUR JOOR FRONIIL!”  _ Sahloknir’s speech seethed with rage, it was practically shaking with anger. How could this… This pathetic  _ mortal _ so much as  _ dare _ touch him?! Yet here she was, grabbing onto each of his enormous bone-like plates like she was climbing some kind of cliff, and soon he felt her hand grasp onto one of his horns. The pupil in his eye had shrunk so much by then that it was barely visible, his predatory sight completely tunnel-visioned on the insolent Dragonborn who dared climb on top of him.

“I think you forgot something, pal.” Saya said, leaning in towards his eye. Her right hand was practically crackling with fire, her body sweating from the heat concentrated in the skin of her palm. “I don’t understand your language.” With those words, her hand plunged into the dragon’s eye socket, fingers grasping onto the beast’s eye and piercing its membrane before ripping it out violently, producing what can only be described as a shriek from the gargantuan dragon. She then tossed it away, and with her blood-coated hand still burning with magical flame, she plunged it into the empty socket, reaching into Sahloknir’s skull…

And then, she let the magic loose, and her entire arm recoiled violently as a fireball exploded inside of Sahloknir’s head, pulverizing the insides and causing smoke and blood to erupt from its mouth and inner ear. Its limbs had gone still, and without the mighty wings holding the body up in the air, the dragon began plummeting down to the ground like a sack of stones. In a moment of desperation, Saya jumped off the head as strongly as she could, spreading her arms and legs in an attempt to slow her fall. Six, seven… The dragon corpse came to a crash, wet cracks and snaps all filling the ears of Delphine and Lydia as even more of the beast’s bones broke from the fall. Saya looked at the result with a shaky gaze before closing her eyes.  _ Calm down. You’ll be okay.  _ Eight, nine… Finally, just as she was beginning to near the ground, the Dunmer managed to force out one last quiet “ **Wuld…!** ”, her body fading into a gust once again. Moments later, the wind seemed to recollect back into a single spot, her body fading into existence again… 

And promptly collapsing onto the ground next to the Sahloknir’s corpse.


	5. Calm

====

**???**

====

_ I couldn't tell where I was. My whole body was searing in pain, and my lungs ached, as if about to burst. I was plunged into a deep sea, pressing upon every inch of me, like a toothless beast attempting to chew. All around me was pure darkness, and the darkness was humming a melody I couldn't recognize, but its very rhythm resonated with my heartbeat, and its unintelligible whispers tickled at the back of my eyes. _

_ I could feel myself breathing in the water, but my skin was dry. Red and green danced in my mind, and then everything grew grey and weary as I heard a distant roar and opened my eyes, seeing nothing. I felt the sea of memory caress my face, and the whispers finally melded from deaf, meaningless noise into words. _

** _"Wake up."_ **

============

**Fredas, the 4th of Hearthfire, 4E201**

============

The bed released a loud, sharp creak as Saya shook herself awake with a gasp. Cold sweat rolled down her face, and her red eyes were wide open, unfocused and twitching. She looked around, taking in the room. Simple wooden walls, a bed, a few chairs… Was this an inn?

The Dunmer's fingers grasped the blanket, throwing it off her body, and suddenly, a stinging ache shot through her right hand. Saya winced, looking down and seeing the tight bandages wrapped around her hand - starting from the tips of her fingers and stopping midway through her forearm. Just beneath them, she could see her skin, darkened and shriveled into a canvas of ugly wounds. A quiet curse escaped her lips, replaced soon after with a quiet incantation. A warm light enveloped the Dragonborn's left hand and she carefully guided it over the damaged limb, sighing with relief as the lingering hypersensitivity began to subside and the ache was fading from her body.

The bed groaned with yet another unpleasant creak when Saya stood up, stretching to the best of her ability. Her muscles warmed up and her joints released a satisfying crack, bar the ones in her right hand, which only responded with a dull pain upon attempting to pop her knuckles. The Dunmer made a mental note to visit a healer sooner rather than later. 

Another glance around the room uncovered the presence of her armor resting on the chair, bar one ruined leather glove and bracer. In an attempt not to strain her damaged limb, Saya refrained from using it while dressing up, inevitably increasing the amount of time needed threefold, but soon enough she'd already been on her way out of her room, pushing the door open. A cozy interior of an inn came into view, not at all unlike the Sleeping Giant at Riverwood. Behind a counter was a black-haired Nord woman in her early forties, dressed in a simple white dress and a red apron. Upon noticing the Dunmer's entrance, her expression grew visibly livelier. 

"Ah, you're awake! Your friends were beginning to get worried, but the Nine must truly be watching over you." She gave the Dragonborn a small smile. 

"Um, thank you." Saya scratched the back of her head, flustered by the comment. If Lydia and Delphine were getting worried… "How long was I out of it?"

The innkeeper hummed in thought. "About… Since the middle of yesterday? It should be noon in an hour or two, so quite a while. The warrior-looking girl - Lydia, was it? She covered your room, should be outside about now."

"Alright, thank you…?"

"Iddra." She said. "Pleasure to meet you. Let me know if you need anything."

The Dunmer nodded, returning the smile. "Saya, and the pleasure is all mine. I'll be sure to." 

The Dragonborn pushed the door open, the fresh, chilly air nipping at her skin that was still used to the warmth of her blanket. Although it's almost been a whole day, there was still some snow peppering the grass left over from the storm, and the people walking around produced a quiet crunch with every step onto the earth's pale coating. Two red-haired men - father and son, judging by the looks, - were sitting near a campfire, talking about something while having their belated breakfast, pickaxes resting by their side. With a grunt, a blond Nord with a knotted beard rolled a cart out of the mine, an emerald-colored shine adorning the ore with which it was filled. A female figure in a robe and a hood - a Dunmer, it seems - was closely inspecting the entrance, a white-blue glow burning at her fingertips. Occasionally, she'd point at a section in the supports, and the wooden beams would seem to thicken, growing and knotting over themselves to reinforce the structure.

The clacking of firewood being placed down onto the ground yanked Saya's attention towards the noise. There, she saw a familiar armored Nord woman wiping the sweat off her forehead. "Good morning, Lydia!" 

The housecarl turned, a bright expression finding its way onto her face. "My Thane! You're finally awake!" Lydia quickly rushed up the stairs to stand in front of the Dunmer. "How are you feeling? After you killed that thing, you just… Just collapsed!" 

"I'm fine, thank you." She answered, her lips stretching into a wry smile. "The hand will need a few touch ups before it's back in working order, though…"

Lydia frowned, crossing her arms. "How did that even happen? We noticed some kind of flash through the snow, and the next thing we know - both of you came crashing down. What did you do?" 

The Dragonborn laughed, scratching the back of her head. "Yeah, uhh… in hindsight, maybe using a fireball on something less than a meter away might have not been one of my brightest moments." She snickered. _ Heh, 'brightest'. _

One second, you could see the color drain from Lydia's face. The next, it flushed red with anger. "What are you laughing about?! A fireball?! What were you thinking?! You could've died!" 

"But I didn't, right?"

"WHAT?!" Lydia's eyes grew wide as she began to open her mouth to reply only to close it right after. "You… W-what kind of…?"

The housecarl's exasperated babbling was interrupted by the feeling of Saya placing a hand on Lydia's head, patting it softly. "I'm sorry that I made you worry, but I'm okay. Look, this," - she raised her right hand, clenching and relaxing her fingers a few times, - "will heal. I'm not dead. I took a risk and it paid off. The dragon is dead, and both you and Delphine are alive and well. Okay?" 

Lydia's lower lip trembled before she bit down on it, sighing in frustration. "I… Alright. I'm glad you're well."

Saya grinned, giving her housecarl another pat on the head before lowering her hand. "Good! Now, speaking of, where's Delphine? Did she run off while I was out?" 

Lydia shook her head. "No. I asked her if she was going to go back to Riverwood, but she said she'll be staying until you were awake and would absorb the dragon's soul.” The housecarl was careful to drop the ‘if she can’ comment. “I think I last saw her going towards the corpse a few hours ago."

Saya's gaze moved to the trail leading uphill. "Walk with me." She said, turning and beginning to head on towards the mound, her housecarl soon following. As they walked, the Dunmer looked around. She saw broken and outright uprooted trees, unearthed rock, craters and ice spikes littering the soil. Saya couldn't help wrinkling her nose - if all of this was just collateral damage, then a direct attack from one of those things… She discarded the train of thought before it got too grim. It's no use thinking about it. _ I wouldn't let it happen-- I _ ** _won't._ **

The Dunmer shook her head before focusing her gaze ahead again. She saw the enormous carcass of the fallen dragon, its flesh and bone exposed as Delphine was carefully skinning the body, collecting the sturdy hide into a leather sack. On the ground were multiple large jars full of a dark crimson liquid - Sahloknir's blood, she guessed. Saya gave Lydia a look that was answered with an equally puzzled shrug, sighed, and approached the corpse. 

"Someone's been busy."

Delphine turned in Saya's direction and raised an eyebrow. Then, she pulled a rag off her belt and wiped her dagger clean before jumping off the corpse. "There'd be no good in letting this thing rot. Maybe one of my contacts or myself can make something useful out of all this."

"Dibs on the bones."

"...Excuse me?" The Breton gave Saya a half-confused, half-_ whatthehelldidyoujustsay _look.

"I have a house in Whiterun. I've already tried tampering with another dragon's bones, and they can be shaped with some difficulty. If I can catch a good opportunity to use the Skyforge, I can try making something out of these - the teeth, spines, and tail spikes are particularly useful, I find, but maybe Farengar could come up with a way to make something out of the other ones."

Delphine stroked her own chin, thinking it over. "Very well, do as you will. But before that, I think there's something you were supposed to show me." The Breton crossed her arms, looking at Saya expectantly. 

The Dunmer sighed, nodding. "Yeah yeah, I'm getting to it." Saya stepped forward, snow crunching under her boots. The dragon was dead, but even its corpse gave off an aura of unease. She swallowed, steadying her breath before taking another step. And another. Soon, she stood right in front of Sahloknir's head. 

She turned back, looking first at Delphine, who was observing her with a cold condescension. Then, she turned to Lydia. There was worry in her expression, but also faith. Saya couldn't help but think that her housecarl might have more confidence in her abilities than the Dragonborn does, herself. With a deep breath, Saya closed her eyes. She tried to remember the feeling from last time, from High Hrothgar and from Whiterun Watchtower alike. She dug for the memories ingrained in her mind, for that peculiar warmth, so foreign, yet somehow so… Right. 

Then, she heard a gasp from behind. As her eyes opened, she could see Sahloknir's flesh begin to unravel into the familiar strands of light. Those thin lines weaved themselves into thread, then into fabric, and then clotted together into a stream of light, white mixed with sky blue and fiery orange, blending and fading and sparking up again. And that stream ebbed, rose and turned, not knowing where to go before she looked at it. Suddenly, she felt a sharp tug at her heart, a spreading heat coming from the center of her chest, and the light began to flow into her body like all the previous times. It grew tighter and denser, washing over her like a torrent, pushing and pulling at her very soul. And then, everything faded away. The light coiled around Saya's body, radiating brightly from within before it burned out like a spent candle, and disappeared.

_ Fade… _ ** _Feim. _ **

The word appeared in her mind like a vision. Claw marks. The word wall in Ustengrav. 

The whispering Rotmulaag - word of power. 

Saya stepped back, grunting as she grabbed her head with both hands, rubbing at her temples. The whispers, it was… Speech. Their language. Like ink-covered spots in a dictionary disappearing from the pages, she saw words. 

Words that Sahloknir spoke and heard. Seconds before death. 

Saya's hands lowered as the voices subsided, and she couldn't help but start laughing. She could understand it - not everything, but she could understand what it said! She turned around, a gleeful smile adorning her face - and she saw Lydia with a similar expression, surprise morphing into happiness in the span of seconds. Delphine, however, stood completely still, her expression frozen in shock. The Dragonborn chuckled and walked back over to them, giving Lydia a hug with one arm. 

"So, guess I am proven Dragonborn twice over now! How about that, hmm?" Saya couldn’t help but be smug. The enjoyment of it quickly sapped away from her, though, as she noticed that Delphine’s expression did not show a hint of happiness. If anything, it seemed... Solemn. "...Hey, what is it?"

Delphine stepped back, pursing her lips and clenching her fists. With a feeling of resolve, she grasped the hilt of her orichalcum blade and pulled it out, sinking it into the earth.

"I suppose I owe you an apology, don't I?” The Breton said quietly, the very edges of her mouth curling into a faint smile. To Saya's surprise, she closed her eyes, placing both hands on her blade. "I've told you before that my organization searched for one like you, right? That is because since our very founding, our purpose was to slay dragons, even if it was forgotten with time. That's why we look for the Dragonborn, the greatest dragonhunter. To serve."

Delphine took a knee, and bowed her head low in front of Saya. 

"...My name is Fortunata Veridis, and I am one of the last Blades alive."

============

_ So… That happened. _

_ As “Delphine” continued talking, more and more things began to fall in place. The search for the Dragonborn, the partnership with a court wizard in an Empire-aligned city, the constant paranoia of Thalmor presence, the combat experience… It all made sense, in hindsight. _

_ It was jarring to hear her tone shift so drastically. Instead of shifty and even hostile misdirections, she gave me honest answers to whatever I would ask. She told me of how she had come to Skyrim some twenty years ago, seeking refuge from the Thalmor snooping all over Cyrodiil. How even then, she was hunted for her allegiance, and how she continued to search for the Dragonborn throughout all of these years. _

_ And how she was also looking for an old friend who, now that she found me, might be able to help us. His name was Esbern, and Fortunata told me that he was the Archivist of the Blades back in Cyrodiil, and when the Cloud Ruler Temple was destroyed, he was one of the few who managed to escape with some of the most important information stored in the libraries, as well as with the decades of knowledge hidden in his own memory. The bad part is, the Thalmor were looking for him as well, and they knew where he was - and Fortunata did not. _

_ After a few more brief words were exchanged, she said she’ll come up with a way to perform some kind of recon mission to try and find him before the Dominion get their hands on him. She said she’ll be in Riverwood if I needed to find her, and that I’ll be getting a letter should she find anything. I wanted to ask her how she planned on getting the letter to find me, but she just chuckled and waved it off. _

_ Myself and Lydia have decided to head southward. Making a hook around the geyser valley was definitely a more time consuming route, but the weather wouldn’t be quite as harsh as taking the riverside road. Besides, there’s been some talk of a Dwemer ruin in the area. I probably won’t go inside, but it’s worth investigating. _

============

Dozens of small magical flames spewed from wall-mounted mechanical torches, bathing the interior in pale cyan light. The cold grey of stone and dust was occasionally accented with a bright metallic brass, lining the surfaces of pipes with long-forgotten functions and simple decorations with no real function to begin with. Filigree shone upon tables and chairs, cabinets and beds - all in that same, fake-gold color.

The centerpiece of the room, however, was definitely the large door made of this same yellow-orange metal. In front of it was Saya, kneeling and painstakingly picking at the keyhole, with some half a dozen broken lockpicks being a testament to her previous attempts. Lydia stood beside her, holding an oil lantern in her hand. She’d already gotten used to the constant displeased grunts and clicks, and while questions swirled about in her head, she had decided to keep quiet after the second lockpick broke.

Minutes passed, and the Nord was beginning to feel a dull ache spreading through her arm. Thankfully, before it could become anything resembling a problem, a loud click came from the door, followed with what sounded like a clock being wound up, and the door opened with a tortured creak. 

Saya practically jumped in her place. “YES! FINALLY!” She erupted with laughter before picking up all of her items off the floor and standing up. Her housecarl just barely had the time to step back not to accidentally get smacked in the face by the Dunmer throwing her hands up in a cheer.

The two entered what looked to be a large vault. The sides of the room were lined with long shelves, parts of deconstructed automatons and solid bars of the same Dwemer brass filling the space. Old pieces of armor and weapons, but also scrap and useless bolts and decorative plates. In some places - even old, half-rotted schematics of unknown technologies, and in others - the gleaming of an occasional empty soul gem.

Their attention, though, was caught by the pedestal at the very back. It looked to be almost like a desk carved from stone, metal trimming the edges and intricate, geometrical carvings adorning the flat spaces. On top of it rested a small, brass-colored rectangle, somewhat tilting upwards to face the room’s entrance. Its surface not completely flat, however, as in the center was a small indent, serving as a container for a bright blue crystal, carved in a peculiar shape that resembled something between a crescent moon and a gear, starting as a semicircle that ended in angular edges, with a third, arrow-like prong coming out of the center, all three protrusions fitting nicely into the pedestal’s niche.

Saya slowly approached the peculiar object, a glint in her eye reflecting its magical glow. Unsure, she turned to look at Lydia, asking no question but receiving an equally puzzled shrug in return. Carefully, the Dunmer reached out, her fingers carefully grasping the carved crystal and pulling it. At first, there was a strong resistance, but after a few seconds it disappeared with a quiet, barely audible click below the pedestal. The object slid straight out, somewhat burning at the mer’s fingertips as she turned it at different angles, watching the light reflect off the edges. Then, she felt a light tap on her shoulder.

“Um, my Thane?” Lydia’s voice called over, confused. The Dunmer turned around, raising an eyebrow at the tone, but surprise crept its way into her features as soon as she looked out into the hallway - previously illuminated by dozens of little flames, it was now plunged into complete darkness, with the light of Lydia's lamp barely reaching the exit door.

Slowly, both of their gazes moved toward the azure crystal, its ethereal glow slowly pulsing in Saya’s hand.

“Thane, you’re not--”  
  


“_ Yes _, we’re taking it.”

============

_ We did not go inside the ruins. Frankly, the exhaustion was slowly beginning to get to both myself and Lydia, so I marked the place on my map and we continued along the road. Now that I think about it, I don’t think this one had a name either, but it was going alongside the Velothi mountain range, so… Prophet’s Path? Prophet’s Path sounds good. _

_ When we reached the intersection near Northwind, we turned westward. Lydia suggested we spend the night in the empty fort, but I didn’t like the idea. We were pretty close to the destination anyway, so we can set up camp there. Did I write down where we’re even going? I didn’t, did I. _

_ The Atronach standing stone is the place I wanted to visit. I heard stories about doomstones before, but there were none back in Morrowind. In fact, the only places that (to my knowledge) contain doomstones are Cyrodiil and Skyrim. I wonder what’s up with that. _

============

Thin trails of smoke rose into the sky from three slender fingertips touching a pile of dry branches. Soon, a minute spark appeared, slowly nurtured into a humble tongue of flame that wrapped hungrily around the kindling, consuming it and growing into a full campfire. Saya sat back on her sleeping roll, a content smile on her face now that the fire was lit and she could feel its pleasant warmth tingling at her undamaged hand, while the scarred one lay rested on her lap along with the faintly glowing crystalline gem.

“So…” The Dunmer said, her smile audible in her words. “...any idea what this is?” She lifted the object, showing it to Lydia, who was sitting on her bedroll as well, her expression somewhere between neutral, tired, and bored.

“No, I’m afraid.” She sighed. Truth be told, the Nord never fancied herself a scholar, but now that she was stuck with one filled with endless curiosity, she almost regretted not doing justice to her homework. Would’ve probably helped a lot with holding a conversation like this one. “I don’t know much about the dwarves, no more than your average Nord would hear. Fairy tales and legends to put little ones to bed.”

The Dragonborn hummed, lowering the item again. Then, she tilted her head quizzically. “What kind of stories were you told?”

Lydia lied down, looking into the fire as her mind was plunged into deep thought. “I remember… There was one story about a king. Vrage, I think he was named. A long, long time ago, he fought in a great war that he started, himself. His father, king Harald, was a wise and old ruler that banished the ancient elves from Skyrim, and his son continued in his father’s steps - not as a defender, but a conqueror. He would lead great armies, claiming land for himself and his nation, and as sign of his reign he wore his father’s crown. The Jagged Crown, they’d call it, because it was crafted from the claws and teeth of an ancient dragon.”

Saya listened with utmost attention, a smile stretching across her face. She laid down, too, watching Lydia closely as she continued talking.

“Father mentioned once that he’d even conquered Morrowind, and Nords ruled over the dwarves that lived there for almost two hundred years.” The Nord paused, closing her eyes and turning onto her back, releasing a deep sigh that was followed quickly by a chuckle. “I remember when father would tell me stories of this old dwarven world. Blackreach, he called it. Have you ever heard the story?”

Saya shook her head. “I don’t think I have.”

Lydia smiled slightly, brushing the hair out of her eyes and looking off into the sky. “Father would tell it to me whenever I wouldn’t go to bed on time. An underground world made by dwarves, stretching beneath the nine holds, full of treasures and blind, pale creatures that would crawl out at night to see if any children weren’t sleeping. Those who were, they wouldn’t notice, but the ones who weren’t - they’d steal away and never let go.” For a few seconds, silence hung over the two, only the fire cracking into the dead of night. Then, the two of them looked at each other and couldn’t help but start laughing quietly. “Sounds kind of dark for a children’s story, doesn’t it?”

“Pfft, if you think that’s dark you’ve not heard of Morrowind’s stories!” Saya waited for the laughter to subside before she looked at the campfire dreamily, the flame’s light dancing in her eyes. She took a deep breath through her nose and sighed. The smoke smelled like home. “Mother used to tell me that when she was young, Morrowind was ruled by the Tribunal. Living gods, they were called: the kind Almalexia, mother Morrowind; the beloved Vivec, a revered leader and a Warrior-Poet; and the ever-reclusive Sotha Sil, whom everyone knew as the Clockwork God. She told me that the Tribunal themselves would sometimes write stories to tell their disciples, those disciples would pass them on, and then they’d be told to children.”

“Did your mother tell you those?”

The Dunmer nodded. “Sometimes. There was one story about Vivec and the contentious beasts. It goes something like this: once, Vivec was out on a stroll, admiring Vvardenfell’s lush forests and fiery rivers alike. When he came across one such river, he saw a shalk and a kagouti argue with one another. He was about to ignore them and walk on, but then he heard what they were saying. The shalk screamed, ‘You’re the ugliest creature alive! Look at yourself: a hulking lizard with a wall for a skull!’, and its shell rattled threateningly. The kagouti roared back, ‘No, YOU are the ugliest creature alive! Look at yourself: a disgusting insect, frolicking around in dung all day!’, and it dragged its claws across the dirt. And then, Vivec pulled his spear off his back, and stabbed it into the earth, and both of them were quiet. And he said: ‘No, both of you are the ugliest creatures alive, for it’s not your looks, but your squabbling that is most disgusting of all.’ He raised his spear and struck, and in two blows both of their skulls were broken, and their jaws silenced, and Vivec went on his way again, knowing now that true ugliness lies in one’s manners, and not their appearance.”

Once she finished, Saya turned over to look at Lydia’s face, which was contorted in an indescribable emotion that could only be defined as a mixture of shock, awe, and sheer abhorrence. “They told that to _ children _ to teach them _ morals _?”

The Dunmer bellowed with laughter, her voice echoing above the waters of the hot springs and the cliffs they rested by. “Quite the fetching story, innit? Dad disliked them, thought them too grim. But really, when you grow up in a place that everyone thinks to be the hell of the mortal world… Is it really so bad?” She shrugged, a wry smile on her face.

The housecarl opened her mouth but no words left her. “...True. The things I’ve heard about Morrowind are not very flattering, to say the least.” She sighed, her expression returning to its previous pleasant neutrality as she simply watched the fire. It was beginning to dim a bit, so she sat up and reached for a piece of firewood, carefully placing it into the campfire not to drown out the flames completely. The little tongues of light happily accepted the addition, engulfing the splintered wood and renewing their vigorous glow, letting the radiating warmth tickle Lydia’s face, almost as a sort of wordless thanks.

Her Thane snickered, turning to look skyward as she put both of her arms under her head. “It’s not all bad. It’s kind of… Kind of like Skyrim, actually. From the outside it seems like this… Uninviting land full of angry people with weird traditions and legends and beasts. But to a person who was born there, all of that is just normal. You don’t think of it as something weird, you think of it as home. As something beautiful. You know?”

The Nord chortled. “Yes, I can understand that.” Some rustling reached Saya’s ears as Lydia settled down again. The soft crackling of the fire was calming, accompanied by the occasional call of a distant bird or the quiet bubbling of the thermal waters to the north. The girl’s red eyes were set on none of those, however. Her gaze trailed along the different stars, carefully eyeing each of them as her mind tried to rouse the memories of all the constellations taught to her by her mother. She remembered the old drawings on the pages - little dots connected by lines, with visages layered on top of them: an armed Warrior, a wise Mage, a cunning Thief, a hissing Serpent… She spotted them all, after a few minutes.

“Hey, Lydia? What sign were you born under?”

The Nord seemed a bit confused by the question, her head tilting to meet Saya’s curious gaze. “Sign?”

“You know. Starsign, birthsign. The constellation.” The Dragonborn explained, and her housecarl nodded in understanding.

“Ah, those.” Her expression grew somewhat sour. “...I was born under The Lady.”

“You sound unhappy about it.”  
  
“Is there something to be happy about? The Lady is… Well, a lady!” The frustration was evident in her voice. She crossed her arms and a sigh escaped her. “Being the daughter of the jarl’s brother is difficult. When I was growing up, mother spent uncountable days teaching me manners, the proper ways to walk, how to dress… But it never _ felt right _. Everyone saw me as a noble lady, someone who would probably get married off to some snot-faced milk drinker to keep him loyal.”

“But that didn’t happen, did it?” Saya asked.

“No. Thanks to father, at least. He was always very… Supportive. Of what I wanted to do. Ever since he noticed I liked the stories of old conquests and heroes more, he’d tell them to me when I would go to bed. He’d give me sword fighting lessons, and when I got a little older I would even practice with uncle’s… I mean, Jarl Balgruuf’s children. He let me do whatever I liked instead of whatever everyone else thought I’m supposed to do.”

“You know, the Lady is one of the Warrior’s charges.” The Dunmer said without looking away from the sky. The moons looked bright tonight, almost mesmerizing. She liked it when they were that way. “Some say Saint Alessia was a Lady, and she most certainly was _ a lady _, and she liberated an entire race from slavery and established one of the biggest and most ambitious nations in all of history.”

Lydia grumbled, murmuring a quiet “I guess”, prompting Saya to quietly giggle. A few moments later, Lydia asked: “What sign were you born under? The Atronach?”

Saya nodded. “Mhm. To be honest, I kind of felt weird about it too for a while. Kids can be quite ruthless.” She laughed. “Ever since one of them found out they’d point at me and say that I’m a scary big monster, or that I’m a demon from Oblivion. Silly things like that, but… back in the day, they were hurtful.”

There was a somewhat surprised sound from Lydia. “That’s… that’s awful. Did you do anything about it?”

“Nah, not really.” Saya chuckled, a grin making its way onto her face. “Mom said something to me instead once I told her about it, though. ‘Not all atronachs are bad - some are good, some are evil. But there’s one thing that unites all atronachs, be it fire, ice, or lightning: they’re the purest versions of what makes them into themselves’.” The Dunmer let out a quiet laugh. “And then she probably called me something cheesy, like ‘my little atronach’ or something.”

“That’s… a really sweet way to look at it.”

“Yep. I also went back to school the next day and put a dry hopper behind the collar of the one that’s been pointing fingers. Serves him right.” A proud, almost smug smile graced Saya’s face while Lydia laughed at the comment.

Once she quieted down, the housecarl asked. “So that’s why you decided to come here? Because you were born under the Atronach?”

The Dragonborn nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been curious to visit it ever since I found out about the Standing Stones. I heard they’re older than anything else in Skyrim, so I wanted to see them for myself.”

“Have you tried touching it?”

“...I beg your pardon?” Saya’s thought processes stopped dead in her tracks as she looked over to Lydia. Evidently, she had not.

“I remember hearing once that, for normal people, the stones aren’t anything special. But every once in a while there’d be a legend or a tale of some hero who would be able to use the Standing Stones to harness the power of the stars. And I mean…” She gestured at the Dunmer. “If the Dragonborn of legend isn’t a hero, I don’t know what is.”

Saya sat up and looked at the Stone, thinking. In the night, she could faintly see small blue dots glow on the object, each little light representing one of the Atronach’s stars. The Dunmer was about to stand up when she noticed the crystal fall out of her lap and picked it up so it wouldn’t get lost, then approaching the stone.

The stone was a light grey color and shaped like an oval with its bottom half submerged into the land beneath. Near the edge of it, there was a wide, thick iron ring with a large round cavity going through the stone. Lastly, there was a depiction of a Storm Atronach carved into the front of the stone, with small gemstones set in a pattern mimicking the positions of the stars in the night sky. Saya reached out with one hand, her skin touching the monument’s rough surface.

“I… Don’t think anything is happening.” She murmured, tracing her fingers along the ‘stars’. But then, she noticed the gems in it become… Brighter. She took a knee to take a closer look when she heard Lydia exclaim.

“My Thane, your hand!”

“Huh?” The Dragonborn looked at her right hand, and, to her surprise, a similar glow was emanating from the Dwemer stone she was holding. She looked back to the Atronach’s ‘stars’, and indeed - the light was undoubtedly similar. She stood back up and took the crystal in her left hand, gliding it along the monument when she felt a strong pull near the crevice in the center. It was as if the blue fragment was being forcefully torn out of her hand, and its glow was growing more intense by the moment. Her fingers were locking up and beginning to hurt, so she quickly let go, and the crystal flew out of her hand and into the hole in the stone, levitating in its center.

Then, it began spinning, turning rapidly on every axis. Its edges were becoming brighter and brighter, its motions so fast that it appeared to almost turn into a sphere of pure azure light. The Atronach’s visage on the standing stone lit up, and the previously unseen carvings began to fill up with that same magical light, rapidly becoming brighter and brighter until it completely outshined the campfire. And then, it all suddenly culminated as the fragment stopped in the middle, its straight edge pointed towards the Dunmer, looking almost like a white vertical iris of a large eye. Carefully, she reached out to grasp it.

The sky lit up. A beam of fluorescent blue came rushing down into the stone, striking the fragment and flowing into Saya’s arm and wrapping around her, fusing with her skin and taking root within her body. Lydia swiftly got up from her bedroll, reaching for the Dunmer’s shoulder but recoiling as the energy that was so tightly enveloping her earlier had ruptured, exploding outward with a short-lived, but forceful push. 

When Lydia’s eyes opened again, the light had almost completely disappeared. The beam descending from above slowly faded away. Their campfire was almost completely blown out, only a few small flames lingering on the dry logs. Saya was standing there, looking at the crystal in her hand. Its glow had reverted to the previous, barely-noticeable level, as if it had returned to a dormant state.

Huffing, the housecarl stood up. “My Thane, are you alright?” She said, brushing off the dirt from herself.

Saya turned around, nodding. “Yeah, I… Think so.” Her voice was little more than a murmur, quiet and unsure as she looked at herself. She didn’t feel any different, at least. Then, she heard a distant rumble. “I think we should sleep somewhere else.”

The housecarl tilted her head as the Dunmer passed by her and began packing up her bedroll. “Why?”

The Dragonborn slung the backpack onto her shoulders. “Because we passed by a giant’s camp earlier, and if what just happened doesn’t prompt a mammoth that just woke up to investigate, then I’m sure some bandits will pick up the slack. C’mon, let’s go.”

============

**Loredas, the 5th of Hearthfire, 4E201**

============

_ This night’s sleep was really something. While we were making our way from the Atronach stone, Lydia caught a glimpse of a cave just a little bit north of where we were heading. Not to travel in the night any longer than we had to, we decided to check it out. _

_ And that’s how we found out about the Evergleam sanctuary. A priest of Kyne greeted us, seemingly keeping watch for travelers or ne’er-do-wells that could stumble upon it, and suggested we rest at the grove inside. When we walked in, I can only describe the place as magical: it was filled with all kinds of plant and animal life - I think I even saw a few bears peacefully snoozing off among the pilgrims - and atop a large underground hill there was an absolutely enormous tree. Its roots stretched throughout the entire cave, and I think I could see some of them crawling up the walls, as if supporting them. The priest said we were welcome to stay a while, so we took him up on the offer. _

_ In the morning, we joined the pilgrims in a short prayer to Kyne. I am no preacher, but I was taught about the different gods that the other races worship, and I’m honestly neutral towards them. Can’t really deny their existence completely considering that somehow, every single race seems to have their own version of the gods. _

_ Well, there’s the part where I’m also Dragonborn, so can’t really deny the existence of Akatosh either. _

_ And then the dragon from the other day, Sahloknir, seemed to call the black one “Alduin”... but I suppose that’s a thought for another day. _

_ From then on, we continued traveling to Ivarstead. The trip was mostly uneventful, though it did rain in the second half of the day which was rather obnoxious. Right now we’re back at the inn, I think it’s best we rest up before we make the climb. _

============

**Sundas, the 6th of Hearthfire, 4E201**

============

The wind’s hiss announced the opening of the door to High Hrothgar, snowflakes finding their way into the monastery only to melt the moment they touched the warm stone floor. The flames dimmed briefly, Lydia and Saya entering the building and lowering their hoods. Arngeir, who was kneeling on the floor in what seemed to be a whispered prayer, opened his eyes and looked over upon the newcomers, but continued the chant nonetheless. The Dunmer slid down her backpack onto the floor, rifling through it while waiting for the Greybeard to finish.

Upon his prayer coming to an end, the silence in the room was broken by a greeting. “Dragonborn. You have returned.”

“I have. And I brought this.” Saya’s arm stretched out, the horn of Jurgen Windcaller grasped tightly in her fingers. Arngeir’s eyes grew slightly wider with pleasant surprise, and a barely noticeable smile graced his old features.

“Ah! The horn of Jurgen Windcaller. Well done, Dragonborn.” He rose from his kneeling position, reaching for the horn and taking it. “You have passed the last of our trials. Come with me, you are ready to receive our final gift.”

The Dragonborn nodded. “Thank you.”

Arngeir returned the nod, before turning around. The monastery seemed to rumble as he spoke. “_ Wuth inne, boaan tiid. _”

The Greybeard led her to the center of the hall again, as the other three masters emerged from their places of meditation. Wulfgar approached Saya, bowing slightly.

“With your body, mind, and voice tested, you are ready to learn the final word of Unrelenting Force - _ ‘Dah’, _ which means ‘Push’.” Arngeir explained. Wulfgar lifted his hand in front of his mouth, the whisper of the word escaping his lips and etching into the stone floor. Again, in Saya’s eyes, those markings began to faintly glow with recognition. “Master Wulfgar will now grant you his understanding of _ ‘Dah’ _.”

Saya nodded, closing her eyes as the wisps of memory flooded into her mind from the master’s. Her very bones felt like they were trembling under pressure, her breath growing deep and strained under the sensation that was not _ truly _ there, but one she could feel with her very soul. And then, a brief weakness - an ease of pressure, a momentary abatement - one that she did not allow to slip, and as she exhaled, the force of her breath rebounded tenfold, lifting the pressure as if it was never there to begin with.

**“Dah”**. “Push”.

Saya’s eyes opened, and a bead of sweat was rolling down her chin. Wulfgar saw that his knowledge was absorbed and stepped back. It was only then that the Dragonborn noticed that the other masters, too, have taken specific positions - upon the floor was carved a square with various hieroglyphics ornamenting its edges, and each Greybeard has taken their place at one of its corners.

Arngeir turned to Lydia, who had so far been simply watching the events unfold. “You may want to wait outside. The Voices of the Greybeards are not to be trifled with, and we wish you to suffer no harm.”

The housecarl opened her mouth to protest, but a glance from the Dunmer made all and any words get stuck in her throat. It’s not like he was wrong, after all. Albeit begrudgingly, the girl nodded and pulled her hood up again, leaving the monastery.

Once the doors were shut, Arngeir spoke to Saya again. “Your training is completed, Dragonborn. Stand still, and steel yourself. Few can withstand the unbridled Voice of the Greybeards, but you will. Are you ready to hear us?”

The Dragonborn nodded. “I am.”

The Greybeards drew in a long breath. When the lips of the four masters parted, and their Voices echoed throughout the monastery, throughout the mountain, if not throughout all of Skyrim:

** _“Lingrah krosis saraan Strundu’ul, voth nid balaan klov praan nau.”_ **

Their words echoed inside her skull, with pain and dizziness washing over her body in resonating waves. Her hands lifted to her ears reflexively, seeking to drown out the unbearable noise, yet the speech still resounding inside her mind.

** _“Naal Thu’umu, mu ofaan ni nu, Dovahkiin, naal suleyk do Kaan, naal suleyk do Shor, ahrk naal suleyk do Atmorasewuth.”_ **

Her own mind screamed at itself to calm down, and her breathing slowly steadied. She was not going to be killed. This was only a greeting. The pain was beginning to grow bearable, and yet her teeth remained clenched, her lips trembling, and her eyes closed. Her back straightened slowly, with heaving exhales calming the nerves. She could do this.

The ringing in her head slowly subsided, and as the Greybeards grew silent, the pain vanished as well. Her breathing grew steady, and her hands lowered from her ears. As a sigh of relief escaped her mouth, her eyes opened. The temple was brightly lit with burning braziers, and the banners of silky blue hung from the walls, the words **“LOK BO, THU’UM TU’UM”** written upon them. “Sky above, Voice within”, she thought, but quickly caught herself wondering how she knew that. The Greybeards knelt, their heads bowed in reverence and respect. Her mouth opened, and yet the voice that spoke was not hers.

**“Rise.” **

The single word rumbled with power, its echo bouncing off the walls and shaking the very air around them. The voice was male and raspy, the pitch low and the volume barely audible. And yet, despite that, it still resonated with the surroundings, piercing into them like a blade sinking into sand.

The grey-robed figures stood up from their knees, and looked at one another. She did not recognize any of their faces, all of them vaguely reminiscent but so different from the four she came to know. Some of them were young, some older, and some so old it seemed a miracle that they’re even alive. And all of them, in unison, said:

** _“Werid wah hi, Wulfharth, su’um do Kaan, jun do brom. Su’umiil los Atmorasekrah, Thu’umiil los strun ni aaz, ahrk him sos dovahseyol.”_ **

Their words were so distant, and yet they were said right in front of her. They blurred in a whirl of half-existing memories, and then, as though they were never there, they vanished. And again, the four voices she knew, finally rang out:

** _“Meyz nu Ysmir, Dovahsebrom. Dahmaan daar rok.”_ **

And then, the room drowned in silence.

============

_ I would be lying if I said that the vision didn’t freak me out. It did. A lot. In fact, the first thing I did after coming to my senses was ask Arngeir about it, but he - sadly, but predictably - couldn’t be of any assistance. _

_ The name “Wulfharth” did ring a bell with him though, and I vaguely remembered it from father’s stories. Wulfharth, who had so many different titles it’d probably take me longer to list them all than to say everything else I know about him, was an ancient High King who was said to be Dragonborn and has apparently returned from death on a few occasions. The last one, according to the Arcturian Heresy, was around Tiber Septim’s time. _

_ Come to think of it, there was some kind of weird vision back when I fought the ghost, too… Hmm, I’ll need to ponder on this sometime later. _

_ I had a more pressing question beyond that, however. Sahloknir’s soul was… I don’t know how to explain it. It’s just that when I absorbed it, I could feel this… understanding. Like some gears in my head suddenly clicked and I knew things I didn’t before. _

_ Arngeir said that this was a part of my power as Dragonborn - as I absorbed his soul, part of Sahloknir’s memories were devoured by me as well. He advised me to be careful, though, so that I wouldn’t accidentally take in too much and be overwhelmed with memories of a creature a hundred times older than me. _

_ Then a thought occurred: if I could understand what dragons say, like during that conversation between him and Alduin, maybe I could learn more from them, or maybe empower my Shouts in some way? I asked Arngeir if there was any way I could learn more about the dragon language, and his first answer was to study and meditate. _

_ Obviously, I didn’t exactly have the time for that. _

_ Instead, I was given an interesting alternative. I was far from the only Dragonborn in the history of Tamriel - hell, even just Skyrim. Arngeir suggested that I try and find their remains and try to somehow communicate with them. He kind of danced around the topic of absorbing their souls, if they were still inside the bones. I guess it’d make sense he’d disapprove of me erasing the last traces of whatever’s left of what used to be some of Skyrim’s greatest heroes. _

_ Frankly, I couldn’t care less. A soul’s a soul, no? _

_ He gave me a location that I should look into. It’s relatively close to Whiterun, so I guess I’ll check it out later. For now, I think we’ll go back to the city. I still need to get my arm fixed up, and as much as she tries not to show it, I think Lydia would appreciate a good rest. _

_ And to be honest, so would I. Sleeping in watches gets tiring. Can’t wait to plop down into Breezehome’s bed and pass out. _

============

**Morndas, the 7th of Hearthfire, 4E201**

============

_ The road to Whiterun was quick and uneventful. The Valtheim towers were still unoccupied, which was both uplifting and kind of disappointing. Considering the strategic placement of these things, I’d have expected Jarl Balgruuf to at least set up a guard outpost here to keep the hold borders in check. Though in the end I suppose it’s not really my problem, and having another bounty placed on a group of bandits that decides to settle in there next wouldn’t be a bad source of money. _

_ ...I wonder if that’s inappropriate for me to say considering I’m a thane and all. It probably is, isn’t it. Oh well. _

_ We arrived in Whiterun in later hours of the day, so I suppose we’ll just spend the evening cozying about. I used my time to check out the Dragonsreach library while it was still available and I asked Farengar if I could borrow a few books to study them at home. He was a bit hesitant at first, but flashing my thane status and the promise of some samples of dragon remains for research was enough to coax him into all but granting me free access to the collection. _

_ Well, okay, “free access” might be a bit much. But I was free to drop by if I ever needed something and to take books with me so long as I didn’t take them outside of the city and returned them without any damage. _

_ The Temple of Kynareth was a bit busy so I decided that it’d be better to come by tomorrow. The rest of my evening was spent reading up on the various large-scale battles of Skyrim, and I found a name that matched the location that Arngeir gave me - Gjukar Stormchanter, a warrior who fell in battle near Rorikstead sometime in the early First Era. He seems to have been more or less forgotten by history, with the only real remnant of his legacy being a big pillar in the Whiterun plains by the name of “Gjukar’s Monument”. We’ll go there the day after tomorrow, methinks. _

_ For now though, sleep. Bed, sweet bed. _

============

**Tirdas, the 8th of Hearthfire, 4E201**

============

_ My day began with returning the books back to Farengar after finishing up with writing my notes. He made sure to inspect them rather painstakingly for any tears or stains, but seemed rather pleased to find that the books were in the same condition as when I first got my hands on them. _

_ From there, I took off to Kynareth’s temple. Danica, the keeper of the temple, seemed rather tired, and the sight of all the injured men and women inside the building (which was all but turned into a hospital, really) didn’t leave much room for imagination as to why. The fee was reasonable, and I threw in a little extra for the short notice. _

_ Once my arm was nice and smooth again - though not completely without reminders of my little stunt - I went through the usual routine. Armor repairs, weapon maintenance, supply stockpiling, the usual boring stuff. I also stopped by to chat with Balgruuf a bit, mentioning the situation with Valtheim Towers. The jarl said that he was already aware of the issue, but couldn’t really deal with it because causing additional troops to Riverwood already caused a shortage of men that he did not have the ability to cover at the moment. I assured him that if another pack of optimists decided to inhabit the ruins, I’d be there to take care of them. Lydia, in the meantime, decided to pay Hrongar a visit and talk a bit. I trust her not to speak ill of me, but I did get slightly anxious when my ears caught the word “Dragonborn” uttered by Hrongar, even if there are no reasons for me to worry. _

_ At least I hope there aren’t any. _

_ Either way, after that little chat myself and Lydia set off towards Gjukar’s Monument. By the evening, we had already been well underway along the White Road (original name, I know) and decided to set up camp just a bit south of fort Greymoor. From what I heard, the place was a bit notorious for being a hangout spot for all kinds of s’wits - so popular, in fact, that often times it’s not even guards or adventurers that end up kicking out the local bandits/vampires/what have you, but other bandits/vampires/what have you themselves. For now, though, it appears that this was one of the rarer quiet times where the fort was unoccupied. _

_ It won’t be a long trip from here to the Monument - I think I can see it off in the distance all the way from over here, but I'd honestly rather sit the night out rather than risk the whole dragon soul thing happening at night and becoming a beacon for all and any night stalkers out there. Just because the fort was unoccupied doesn’t mean there wasn’t something out and about at night, and I’d rather that something stay wherever it is. _

_ Worst case scenario, I at least hope a dragon doesn't find us… _

_ If there is no entry for tomorrow and my corpse isn't anywhere to be found, consider me dead. Saya Indoril, out. _


	6. Fables, Fangs, and a Fowl

============

**Middas, the 9th of Hearthfire, 4E201**

============

“Thane, I am  _ really _ asking you to reconsider this.”

Lydia’s foot was tapping on the ground, her arms crossed and brows furrowed. While she did understand the importance and main goal of their trip to Gjukar’s Monument, she still felt… uncomfortable, due to Saya’s slightly off-putting enthusiasm.

“I said it once, and I will say it again: it’s not graverobbing if it’s for the sake of saving the world.” The Dunmer said without looking away as she continued shoveling the ground in front of the massive carved monolith. The object of her search eventually revealed itself when a recognizable shine of bone became visible in the dirt. “And there it is! Alright, I think it’s best you step away and cover your ears. You know, just in case.”

“Yes yes, I know.” The housecarl rolled her eyes and stepped away to the side, sheathing her weapon and waiting. Saya then unsheathed Stormblade, holding it with both hands as she stabbed it into the dirt, as though making markings. She moved the sword left and right as she removed it each time, and soon the ground around the skeleton was littered in small pits and cracks.

Saya looked over to Lydia and gave her a thumbs up, to which the black-haired woman nodded and placed both of her hands over her ears. The Dragonborn returned the nod and closed her eyes steadying herself before taking a deep breath and-

**“FUS, RO DAH!”**

The booming Shout shook the air around them as the shockwave sank into the soil. In rapid succession, each crack grew larger as chunks of earth were ripped out of the ground, some even flying up into the air before landing a few steps away. Lydia scrunched her nose and huffed, wiping the dust off her face once it began to settle. While she did agree to the plan earlier that day, seeing the results first-hand made her regret that decision just a little bit. Not enough to be vocal about it, but the thought would be there for a while.

By the time her vision cleared, the Dunmer had already been digging up whatever little of the corpse still remained under the dirt and brushing it off. She could see that some of the bones were fractured - probably as a result of the earlier Shout. Wouldn’t be surprising. The housecarl approached her and crossed her arms yet again, now that they were free.

“...So now we have a really old corpse.” She stated, after a few seconds of silence.

“A corpse of a Dragonborn.” Saya shot back, her voice noticeably raspier.

“I mean, it’s still a corpse.” A black eyebrow was raised. The bones themselves didn’t look like anything special to her. Just old bones, cracked and covered in hundreds of years’ worth of filth. She couldn’t help but frown in repulse. At least the organs were long gone. If the sight wasn’t disgusting enough, then the smell would’ve certainly tested her ability to resist the urge to vomit. “Do you have any ideas on what to do with it?”

“Two, actually, and either of them may or may not work. We’ll see, I guess. Now come on, give me a hand here.” The red-eyed girl beckoned over her housecarl, carefully pulling the skeleton out of the ground and seating it in front of the monument. Saya dusted herself off as she knelt in front of the skeleton. Lydia didn’t want to interrupt, and as such simply stood close.

Saya took a deep breath and calmed herself, emptying her mind of all unnecessary thoughts while she searched for a feeling. The tickling, burning, pulsing sensation of a dragon soul being nearby. Faint, but growing with every moment. She thought back to the dragons she had slain, and how from their remains she'd pull out the light that would become their immortal soul, ready for her devouring… 

"...Well, this isn't working. Plan B, then." The Dragonborn chirped and stood up, dusting herself off. 

Startled, Lydia cleared her throat and did her best to make the bored expression vanish from her face. "Ah- sorry, plan what?" 

Saya turned around, both hands at her hips and her head tilted in confusion. "Plan B? Y'know, backup plan?" 

"No, I mean-", the housecarl sighed. "You had a plan B?" 

The Dunmer scratched the back of her head awkwardly. "Well… Okay, okay, technically it's plan C. But yes, I did have one just in case this didn't work."

Lydia met the remark with a deadpan reply. "...Dare I ask what plan A was?" 

The Dragonborn shrugged. "I dunno. The ghost just kind of... waiting for me by the time I got close, I guess?" Lydia's palm got audibly reintroduced to her face. Saya snickered. "Anyway, same deal here. Back up a bit and cover your ears. This shouldn't be as bad but, y'know. Just in case."

Lydia obliged, quietly grumbling under her breath and taking multiple steps back. Just in case.

Saya, in the meantime, opened her mouth and vocalized quietly, one hand rubbing her neck to help relax her throat. The recovery period had already passed, that simply meant that if she were to Shout right now she wouldn’t end up coughing up blood - and while that is still a very good thing, the pain and discomfort did not vanish as quickly. As such, the Dragonborn preferred not to take risks unless she was on a strict time limit.

Well, not  _ those particular _ risks, anyway.

Of course, there’s always a moment of doubt before attempting something you have never done before. Saya’s tongue was feeling a bit heavy in her mouth, like she knew what to say but not how. But she reassured herself: it worked with her before, and she knows how it happened. It won’t be difficult to replicate. And besides, it also worked in a book.

And books don’t lie, right?

...right?

_ Ah, muck it. _

**“DOV-AH-KIIN!” ** The rumbling words left her lips and she could hear her own head throb, dropping down to her knees. The sound felt like it was bouncing on the inside of her skull, pounding harder with each reverberation. Her hands reached up, nails digging into her scalp. The Dunmer shook her head violently to try and throw off the sensation, and heaved in relief when the noise started to subside. Only by the time her haze had half-disappeared did she notice Lydia’s hands grasping her shoulders, calling out Saya’s title over and over.

“--ou okay?!” The ringing in her ears still persisted to an extent, but she could make out the question, nodding. Her arm wrapped around the housecarl’s shoulder, leaning onto her.

“I… am  _ so _ never getting used to that.” The Dragonborn groaned. She rubbed the back of her hand across her forehead, wiping off the sweat. Quickly steadying herself on wobbly legs, Saya made a mental note not to try that again. Maybe a written one later.

“Did it work?” Lydia asked, shifting to hold Saya up by the forearm. Then, a deep, resonant voice spoke:

_ “Evidently so.” _

Both of the women turned their heads to the voice’s source. Above the skeleton there was now a visage of a man - a tall, bearded Nord with a greatsword mounted upon his bare back. His torso was unconcealed by armor and sported a wide scar across the chest. Saya’s gaze couldn’t help but wander to the skeleton, and indeed - the crushed ribs formed the same line that the scar drew upon the ghost’s “flesh”. The man’s hair was long and thick, looking almost like a mane, and a single braid was weaved on the left side of his face, reaching past his chin.

_ “You’ve got guts, long-ear. Pulling a warrior long dead from his slumber, let alone from Sovngarde itself.”  _ Gjukar’s feet touched the ground, and that was the moment where it really hit Saya just how tall the Nord actually was. It was one thing to look at the bones - seeing the man tower a full two heads over her is entirely another.  _ “And with the power of Thu’um, no less. Speak your excuse, then.” _

_ Excuse? Well, someone’s a prideful son of a bitch. _

“I call you because I am in need of your help. Since your death, over three thousand years have passed. I know you are Dragonborn, and it is your knowledge of Thu’um that I’m after.”

The warrior scowled, reaching for his axe. His brows furrowed, and his fingers wrapped around the handle, but he did not unsheathe the weapon as he saw Lydia suddenly step forward, her own blade hissing as it left the scabbard. The housecarl raised her shield-arm, holding it in front of Saya.

“Not a step further.” The black-haired Nord growled at her kinsman. With a quiet ‘hmpf’, he let go of the weapon and crossed his arms.

_ “A daughter of Skyrim protecting a she-devil. May the harbinger of us all have mercy should you face him in Sovngarde, for in life he would’ve had your head.” _ The spirit’s words were seething with spite and anger, but he did not attempt to draw his weapon once more. He was silent for a moment, thinking before he spoke again - this time in a much calmer tone.  _ “My brothers and sisters in arms have told me a great many stories of being awakened by witchmen and enslaved, forced to act in favor of their vile schemes against their will. I feel no such restraint on me. What is it that you want, truly?” _

Saya sighed. Contrary to Lydia and Gjukar, her own hand hadn’t even twitched in her blade’s direction. “My name is Saya, and I am the Dragonborn of this time. I am after your knowledge, because time is too short to learn everything the proper way.” She reached into her pocket, pulling out a large ivory tooth.

Gjukar seemed puzzled at the sight, but his expression remained the same beyond a raised eyebrow.  _ “What beast does this belong to?” _

“A beast that you have never seen, Gjukar. A dragon.” She placed the fang back into her pouch. Might come in handy later. “The ancient creatures have returned and are threatening the people of Skyrim. The Greybeards can only teach me so much so quickly. I need your wisdom to help me defeat them.”

At this, the man’s expression grew grim as he stroked his beard.  _ “So it is true, then.” _

Lydia tried maintaining the defensive front, but the curiosity in her voice betrayed her fierce look. Her grip on her sword and her shield, however, hadn’t loosened. “What is?”

Gjukar closed his eyes.  _ “In recent times, I'd scarcely see a new soul to greet in Sovngarde. A thick mist unlike anything I've seen before hangs over the stretching plains… and, sometimes, out of the corner of their eye, one might catch a glimpse of a winged shadow looming over the misty labyrinth. Those few that make it through are steeled, mighty folk, yet somehow even they tremble when they describe the thing. Bloody red eyes, scales dark as night, and a throat that spits flames hotter than the sun." _

Saya's eyebrows furrowed. Alduin being sighted in an afterlife, of all places, certainly didn't bode anything good. And the mysterious mist, too…

"That's their leader." Lydia said, lowering her weapons at last. "We've seen this black dragon before. He has the power to resurrect other dragons."

_ "Truly?" _ Gjukar looked shaken. His mind turned to darker thoughts, and it showed in his face.  _ "Then… can they ever be defeated? Won't they simply return to life, time after time after time?"  _

"Not if a Dragonborn kills them." Saya responded. She placed a hand on her chest, her fingers curling into a fist. "My soul -  _ our _ souls - are special. We don't have just the gift of their tongue, but their very  _ souls  _ are the same as our own. If I fell a dragon, I can devour its soul - and it'll never rise again."

The warrior looked at her for a few long seconds. Then, he began quietly laughing, a small smile creeping its way into his features.  _ "And it is my power that you want to use against them. To bring them down and devour them." _

The Dunmer nodded, stepping around Lydia to bow slightly. "Yes. To protect Skyrim, and all of Tamriel, I ask for your help." She closed her eyes, waiting for an answer. 

Lydia watched Gjukar's pause, which lasted only a few seconds that crawled as though they were minutes. The woman's eyes were so focused on him that she barely paid any mind to her surroundings. It was only when the Nord looked around and nodded to himself contently did a thought cross her mind:

_ Were the clouds so dark this whole time? _

** _"STRUN!" _ **

All of a sudden, the roar of thunder rumbled above their heads and lightning struck the monument. Saya looked back up to be met with unexpected rainfall, and she quickly pulled up her hood. The stone pillar seemed to have almost broken in two, as a series of large cracks stemmed from the top and riddled the entire monolith. She looked back at Gjukar, who smiled back at her and nodded towards the pillar again.

_ "You wanted my knowledge. Take it, then."  _

The Dragonborn frowned and looked at the stone yet again, squinting… and suddenly, it hit her. The way the cracks formed, deep or shallow, connected or separate - it wasn't random. No, the cracks formed symbols. A word that called to Saya, whispering at the back of her mind:  **Strun** . 

_ “Thunder roars in the heavens. Clouds gather, blacking out the blazing sun. Fire courses in your veins, and the winters of Atmora live within your breath.” _ Gjukar spoke, and the surroundings followed his words. Indeed, the clouds boomed with their low growls, and not a single ray of sunshine could be seen through them.  _ “Your words are spoken in the tongue of gods, granted unto us by the Hawk of Winds and Rain. By her icy breath are we steeled, and by her blessing do our blades strike true. Speak, then-” _

The warrior offered his hand. Saya reached out towards it.

_ “-and unleash the  _ ** _storm_ ** _ she gifted you.” _

The two Dragonborns’ hands touched, and the ghost’s heart grew bright, pulsing with light through his ethereal body. Starting with the fingertips, his form began to vanish, and with every beat the glowing heart grew brighter and brighter. Gjukar looked at Saya and gave her a small approving nod, speaking:

_ “I know now what you mean when you said you sought my knowledge. For our souls are just like those of dragons, and just like them you sought to consume mine.” _

A glint of guilt flashed in the Dunmer’s eyes as she averted them. “It is the only way.”

_ “Ha! Even a Dragonborn, an elf is still a sentimental milk-drinker!”  _ The Nord laughed. Saya couldn’t help but smile wryly.  _ “A dead man is no good to save the world, but his weapons may yet be used. Fulfill your duty, Dragonborn.” _

She nodded, a chuckle escaping her. His legs have dissipated up to the thigh by now. “I’ll make good use of it. But what of you? If I absorb your soul, won’t you…”

_ “Not be able to return to Sovngarde?” _ The warrior cut her off.  _ “Aye.” _

“Do you regret it?” Lydia asked, her voice quiet, as if unsure. Sovngarde was the goal of their entire life to some, if not most Nords. Would he really give it up?

_ “Girl…”  _ Gjukar went quiet. It was obvious in his features that he didn’t want to give it up. Something that he lived  _ and died  _ for. But he shook his head.  _ “You told me that it has been… what, three thousand years since I have entered that place? Shor’s beard, you never notice how long you’ve been drinking for until someone sober pokes you in the gut.” _ He laughed yet again. The lower half of his body was completely gone, leaving only half an arm, his chest, and his head to fall apart into glowing dust.  _ “But no matter how sweet the mead is, or how fun the night is - you have to pass out at some point.” _

The housecarl averted her eyes. Saya’s lips stretched into a smile. “Rest in peace, Gjukar.”

The Dunmer reached out towards the glowing heart of the ghost, already so bright that it had appeared as just an orb of light, shimmering with orange and blue tongues of fire. Her fingers had barely touched it when suddenly, it exploded with wisps of energy, twisting and floating around the Dragonborn. It was not an unfamiliar sight, yet somehow it was still just as mesmerizing as the first time. She took a deep breath, and the energy entered her body, her heartbeat drumming in her temples and her soul pulsing with power.

As Saya exhaled and opened her eyes again, she looked up into the sky. The clouds above were slowly clearing up.

============

_ Would anyone judge me if I said that as soon as I could, I used the Shout just to see if it works? Because that's what I did, and in hindsight, I probably should've realized that naturally creating lightning bolts would require storm clouds, which would mean rain. So Lydia and I accidentally ended up soaked. _

_ I don't know who it is reading this, but know that I can feel your judgmental glare. Stop that. Rain is good for the environment, I’m doing everyone a service, shut up. _

_ We found shelter in a cave a bit to the east. I believe it was marked on the map as Broken Fang cave. I wasn't really sure why until we actually entered it. It was a small cave, but absolutely littered with blood and corpses. There were two small chambers that we made our way through, and while the first one only had two bandits guarding the entrance, the second one had three vampires holed up inside. Thankfully, we managed to catch them by surprise - it was daytime, so they were all asleep, except for one who was keeping watch. I have to say, I'm glad that the rule still holds up and killing a sleeping vampire is a lot easier than an actively fighting one. I have no idea why it wouldn’t apply for any reason, but who knows? Creatures of the night and all that. _

_ I can only imagine myself gently shaking a vampire awake so I can stab him in the gut. Heh. _

_ I also feel like it's kind of worth noting that the vampires all wore the same clothes. There were some minor color variations, but all of them wore the same boots and gloves along with a black shirt and a layered-looking vest over the top. They also had a metal pin right over where the heart is - looked kind of like a metal steering wheel of a ship or something. Eight spokes, four of them longer than the others but none of them evenly sized. Sides of the world, maybe? _

_ I'll snag one of the emblems just in case. Maybe I'll dig up some information, or maybe I'll have an identifier for the guards to use when looking for members of a new vampire gang.  _

_ Would it be a gang? Tribe? Clan? Whatever the proper term is.  _

_ For now we'll just wait out the rain and then move on, though I'm not gonna lie, it's not looking too great. We probably won't have to camp here but I doubt we'll make much distance before nightfall. _

_ I should make a mental note to ask the Greybeards about some kind of Shout to make the weather better, maybe. That'd come in real handy.  _

_ If it didn't hurt like a bitch to speak, anyway. _

============

**Turdas, the 10th of Hearthfire, 4E201**

============

“Do you think I could blow its head off?”

“That’s… not really the point here, we just--”

“--want to snap the neck with the Shout, I know, but  _ could I _ , hypothetically speaking, blow its head off?”

Lydia released a very, very tired sigh at the question. Their trip towards Whiterun has been mostly uneventful, and the two were just having idle conversation the entire way. That is, until something happened - that something being the Dunmer spotting a deer while on their way past the Sleeping Tree, and promptly deciding that she absolutely  _ needed  _ to kill it because she wanted the hide and the antlers. Gods only know for what, but the housecarl didn’t question it. It’s unlikely she’d get a clear answer anyway.

"Alright, you know the plan." Saya gave Lydia a small salute before quietly stepping aside and sneaking around the animal. A solid minute later, the Dunmer ended up almost parallel to the deer, and Lydia drew her bow. The loosed arrow whistled through the air, landing just a few steps away from the cervid. It turned sharply to look at the arrow before it heard Lydia's closely approaching footsteps and began running in the opposite direction. Saya followed suit, keeping a bit of a distance as the two led the animal away from the open road and into the woods southward, trapping it with no way to escape. When the deer realized it, it dashed to the left, trying to get lost between the trees - only to run straight into Saya, who opened her mouth and-

**"Fus, RO DAH!" **

The deer didn't have time to release its pained yelp before it got blasted with a force of such intensity that it was swept completely off its feet, as if picked up by some unseen enormous giant, and thrown into the woods as a series of sickening crunches of bones and trees alike followed. As the Dragonborn was recovering, her housecarl approached from the side. 

"Did it work?" Her tone of voice was unamused, to say the least. She looked to the side, seeing the snapped branches and small chunks of grass torn asunder in a cone, originating from where the Dunmer was standing. Saya, in turn, gave her a thumbs up. 

"W_i_th_ou_t a h_it_ch." The Dunmer coughed, her voice cracking a few times as the rasp has yet to wear off. "Gah… f_u_ck_ing_ _o-_ow."

Lydia rolled her eyes, slinging the bow back onto her shoulder. “Don’t talk. I’ll go find the deer.” With that, the housecarl briskly walked off, disappearing into the treeline. Saya steadied her breath, squeezing her fist repeatedly and counting until the last painful stings stopped. When they did, she released a deep sigh.

“...Forty five. Not a good idea for a fight, after all.” The Dragonborn shook her head, disappointed. “Though, maybe if it’s a one-on-one… or maybe when everyone is bunched up?” She hummed, stroking her chin. The mental image of a dozen-odd bandits being swept off their feet and falling off a cliff was oddly entertaining.

Until it was interrupted by screaming. Instantly, Saya broke into a sprint and made a beeline for where she heard the voice, which was unmistakably Lydia’s. She saw the deer lying still on the ground, its limbs twisted in unnatural ways. Her eyes darted around the surroundings and picked up on a trail of blood that led deeper into the woods. With each and every step, the trail grew brighter and wider, turning the grass a dark shade of red and seeping into the earth. Saya heard a choked, pained yelp and rushed to the source, Stormblade at the ready and with all the hope in her heart that the blood wasn't Lydia’s.

While she was running, she was fully ready to jump into a fight at a moment’s notice, yet when she saw Lydia, her body’s first instinct was to freeze in place.

A creature just a little over two meters tall was towering over the housecarl, who was held with one arm against a tree. The monster’s skin was a dull grey, almost like stone, and looked a little singed, like dry grass after a sunny week. Its hair was long, tied into a silver-white ponytail that reached between its exposed shoulder blades. Only the lower half of the creature was clothed in a long ornamented skirt, and where one would normally expect to see shoes they’d see bird-like four-fingered feet with long black claws, not unlike those on its long-fingered, sinewy hands. Its ears were long and stretched out to curl around its head, almost like a fox’s but somehow wrong and unnatural, and it had a pair of strange boney wings protruding from its back, one of them broken and bent at an odd angle. Saya took a step back at the sight and the creature’s head snapped in her direction, revealing a flat nose and pitch-black eyes… along with a pair of sharp fangs.

The Dunmer came to her senses just in time to see the monster raise its free hand to form an ice spear and hurl it at her. She quickly moved her arm, shattering the projectile with her weapon. The winged creature hissed, letting Lydia drop to the ground before its body suddenly opened up, its skin splitting into dozens of little fragments that then burst out into flight as a swarm of bats heading straight for the Dragonborn.

**“Feim!”** She screamed, closing her eyes as the rapidly approaching cloud of ravenous animals passed straight through her. She turned around, seeing the monster meld back into its original form, as it glared at her with animalistic, maniacal rage. Streaks of crimson magicka began to accumulate in its dominant hand and a low chant rumbled from its throat, but whatever spell it was attempting was swiftly interrupted by a firebolt striking into its shoulder.

The creature shrieked, its skin burning up like dry paper and crumbling into ash. Without waiting for another opening, Saya dashed towards it, Stormblade at the ready, yet as she attempted to swing it at the creature, its hand grasped the blade. Dark blood flowed from it - the same kind as the trail she saw earlier - and the creature hissed in pain before its other claw grasped Saya by the neck, lifting her up and slamming her into the ground. The Dunmer coughed, her breath knocked out of her lungs, and in her blurry vision she could see the bared fangs shine as they got closer and closer towards her face.

Then, she heard something whizzing by, followed by the sharp noise of splitting bone. Ice-cold blood splattered on her face, and the grip around her throat suddenly relaxed. The beast collapsed, falling onto her. Saya pushed it off, panicking as she sat up and turned to look at it: a thick wooden arrow - a bolt? - was stuck halfway into the side of its skull. Blood continued dripping from the wound, yet without the usual rhythm, as though the creature didn’t have a heartbeat to push the substance out of the body.

“Ugh. Nasty thing, managed to get away after all.” A low voice grumbled beside the Dunmer. She turned and saw a male figure - at least, she assumed so from the broadness of the shoulders and the height. Said figure wore a full suit of armor: the boots and gloves looked to be made out of rough leather, held in place by buckles from the same material; the shoulders and knees were covered with steel plates vaguely mimicking the body’s shape yet remaining a mix between geometrical and rounded, simple in form yet seemingly very effective in function; a tunic of thick black cloth served as an undershirt for a steel-plated brigandine with something akin to a high steel collar around the neck; lastly, the face was completely obscured as the man wore a closed helmet - not unlike one depicted as gear of the High Rock knightly orders - with only a few small holes for breathing and two larger ones for the person’s eyes, which appeared to be dark yellow. One hand appeared to be holding an apparatus that looked vaguely familiar to Saya as something that the Dwemer Spheres use for ranged combat, while the other was stretched out in an offer to help. The Dunmer grasped it, helping herself up.

“I… Thanks.”

“Hmph.” The figure grumbled in acknowledgement. “You get bitten or scratched anywhere?”

Saya looked and felt around herself, checking for injuries. “No, I’m fine.” She replied, before quickly following up: “Ah- but I was with another person. She might be injured.”

The man grunted, putting his weapon onto his back. “Show me.”

Saya nodded, stepping aside and gesturing to where Lydia was. The stranger didn’t wait for her to say anything before walking in that direction, passing right by the Dunmer. As the initial shock - and with it, the burst of gratitude - of being rescued from a near-death situation passed, the Dragonborn let a slip of irritation seep into her expression, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms. She sighed, doing her best to force the annoyance to disappear from her tone before speaking.

“And you are?”

The man stopped in his tracks, turning his head slightly. “Durak.” He said simply, and continued on.

============

_ Lydia wasn’t very well off when we found her. She was just barely conscious, but Durak pulled out some kind of weird bottled liquid with this absolutely horrid smell. As soon as she smelled it, she was fully awake again. A few minutes of treatment with healing magic and any injuries she had (that I could find) were gone, but Durak made sure to give her a small potion in a white flask as soon as I was done, and he watched her drink it with such intensity it’s almost as if he was trying to punch a hole in her head with that stare. _

_ Luckily, even though he wasn’t really the talkative sort from what I’ve seen, he did say that the flask was a curative that should halt the development of vampirism, but that she should see a priest as soon as possible to be sure.  _

_ Oh, right, speaking of - the thing that attacked us was, according to himself, a very strong type of vampire that could transform. “Vampire lord”, he called it. Durak said he was part of an organization called “the Dawnguard” that settled in the fort in the Velothi mountains east of Riften, and that it’s kind of their job to hunt vampires. _

_ Now that I think about it, they’ve been popping up in passing conversations quite a lot recently. I think Alvor mentioned them, too. Actually, didn’t he also say that Riverwood was attacked by a pack of vampires a week ago? _

_ Shit. Durak mentioned a vampire lair somewhere nearby. Hopefully he hasn’t gone far. _

============

Durak stepped back, growling under his helmet as the grip around his axe’s handle grew tighter. He stomped his boot down onto the chest of an undead lying by his feet, reaching for the Orc helplessly and groaning with every breath. In one swing, the axehead chopped into its neck, and the reanimated body went still once more, slowly crumbling into ash.

The feeling of relief was short-lived as a stabbing pain stung at his shoulder. With almost bestial ferocity, Durak turned around to see a skeleton armed with a bow, already midway through nocking a second arrow. He ran towards it, ramming the flimsy skeleton with his shoulder and smashing it into pieces. His breathing was getting labored, running around in heavy armor beginning to really take its toll, before he suddenly heard laughter echoing from somewhere high up. The Orc’s gaze turned to see that he was in the middle of a vertical tunnel, rocks chiseled into stairs spiraling around its walls to lead upward.

At the very top, he could see a figure not unlike that which he had killed just outside the cavern - a vampire lord, who was the source of the laughter. Its skin was notably paler than the one outside, less like slate and more so like ash left behind by a burnt stick of charcoal, and its eyes weren’t black but rather shone with pale white. The few bits of clothing it had were jet black instead of red, the metallic embroidery shining with gold against the cloth. Lastly, and perhaps most notably, - it lacked wings completely, but instead its head was adorned with a pair of thick horns that curled back, almost like those of an antelope.

“I applaud you, Dawnguard. You have come far.” Its voice was low and hissing, echoing through the chamber. Durak didn’t wait for it to finish talking, grabbing his crossbow and sending a bolt straight for the creature’s face. Unamused, the vampire lord simply raised its hand and the bolt froze in the air before being tossed aside. “I must commend you for slaughtering that Volkihar dog that escaped us. It would’ve been… obnoxious to have to hunt it down.”

The monster’s other hand began to swell with purple energy. The color was filling the room like a miasma, seeping into the walls. “For this service, I have decided to grant you a gift.” It turned its palm around, raising the hand above its head. The energy pulsed under the skin and gathered at the fingertips before the vampire snapped his fingers and it vanished without a trace. “I shall not turn you into a thrall, and instead you shall die by my hand rather than live in eternal servitude. Be grateful, morsel.”

The walls began to abruptly crack, crooked arms and legs with long fingers emerging, reaching out from the stone. Bat-like faces opened their jaws and screeched. The bodies broke out of the surrounding material, fluttering their featherless wings and brandishing their misshapen claws as their feral eyes centered on the Orc. Durak cursed under his breath, recognizing the creatures as gargoyles, and readied his crossbow. The vampire lord smirked.

“Die now, in terror. But do not be sad - I assure you, your comrades will--” The creature’s speech was interrupted with a booming noise and a gust of wind circling around its body, followed immediately by a bloody gurgle. The vampire’s eyes lowered to see a hand holding an ebony dagger lodged deep in his throat, and then they rolled back as the hand twisted the blade and a sickening wet crack announced the snapping of the creature’s neck, vertebrae dislodged by cold metal.

Saya pulled the dagger out and then brought it down again, this time on its chest. The edge gleamed with red as dark blood coated it, dribbling out of the long diagonal gash across the creature’s torso. Durak’s mind caught up with what just happened just in time to see the gargoyles around him collapse into pieces of rock and dust, and, soon after, the vampire’s corpse also dropped from its perch, falling like a sack of rocks onto the cold stone floor.

The Dawnguard looked up at Saya, wordlessly meeting her eye. She sighed, wiping her forehead. “See this? This is why you kill first and  _ then _ monologue.”

============

_ Thankfully, that turned out to be the only vampire lord in the entire ruin. Honestly I'm not sure if I could take one in open combat, even if there's multiple of us. _

_ Durak turned out to be a lot more talkative once he’s not in as big of a hurry and owes you his life. Wasn't too hard to weasel out more info on this Dawnguard - apparently they're a splinter group that separated from the Vigilants of Stendarr due to some differences in ideology. Durak himself wasn't a Vigilant, but was a good friend of the man currently leading the Dawnguard, Isran, so when the call came to come help he didn't have to think much.  _

_ True to its name, Brittleshin Pass turned out to be a passage through the mountains. When we came out the other side, we ended up just a stone's throw away from lake Ilinalta. At that point the Orc bid his goodbyes and told me to come by the fort if I ever decide to be a bit more proactive against the "vampire menace".  _

_ Not the best pitch, but at least he tried. _

_ Myself and Lydia will head to Riverwood for now. She needs the rest, and I'd really appreciate a good meal. Stomach has been growling louder than most dragons I met, and I haven't met a lot.  _

_ Not yet anyway.  _

============

“Well if it isn’t a familiar face!” Saya exclaimed, half-turning towards the inn’s entrance and raising her mug in greeting. Lydia glanced over her shoulder, giving the target of her Thane’s attention a careful look over. A Nord man stood there with short-ish brown hair, a strong jawline, mismatched eyes, and one arm wrapped in a large amount of bandages with a leather belt that went around the shoulder and the damaged limb, propping it up.

Hadvar chuckled and pulled up a chair, sliding over some coin to Orgnar, who wordlessly poured him a tankard of mead. “Good evening to you, too.” As soon as the drink was served, he pulled it up to his mouth and took a hearty gulp.

Saya did the same, giving her housecarl a glance that told her to ease up. Lydia shrugged, quieting down and going back to her own drink. “How has life been treating you this past month? I’ve been here just a few weeks ago and your folks said that you were off fighting, and now you come waddling back with that arm of yours.” She lightly jabbed the man’s shoulder with her elbow, enough for him to feel it but careful not to hurt him on accident. “Get into a fight with a bear?”

The soldier laughed. “If only it was that entertaining. No, nothing of the sort.” He shifted a bit in his seat while Saya turned around to listen more closely. “Had a run-in with Forsworn near Fort Sungard. We’ve been getting no reports from the unit stationed there and our scouting party was sent to check if everything was alright. When the fight broke out, I had the rotten luck of fighting the one with a big hammer.” Hadvar turned to face the red-haired Dunmer, looking her in the eye with absolute seriousness. “Believe me, those things may  _ look _ shoddy, but they’re damn sturdy and pack quite the punch. Lucky I could get my shield up in time, gods know what would’ve happened to this arm if I was a moment slower.”

Saya hummed, running her finger across the rim of the mug. “So you’re here on an impromptu vacation, then?”

At this, Hadvar gave a wry smile. “If you can call it that. Most of our healers are off at the front lines, I got this thing patched up to the best of my ability. The legate told us that the fort will be dealt with and we should take a few weeks to recover - we weren't an assault force, after all. Miracle we got out alive.” Another swig of mead. “What about you? Uncle Alvor said you had a brush with a dragon?”

“Oh you know.” Saya rolled her eyes in the direction of Lydia, who looked unamused. “I might’ve.”

“She killed it.” Lydia said dryly. “And another one, last Middas. Almost blew her hand into pieces in the process.” The housecarl turned to look at the others, and couldn’t help but smirk as she saw Hadvar’s expression of utter bewilderment and disbelief along with Saya’s childish pout.

“You’re no fun.” The Dunmer mumbled.

“And you’re beating around the bush.” The Nord shot back, shrugging. “I don’t see why being Dragonborn is something you shouldn’t be proud and open about.”

Saya grumbled, unable to come up with a comeback without having to mention the cultists and possibly risking reigniting Lydia’s paranoia. So instead she raised her mug to her lips again, sipping the wine from it.

Hadvar took a solid few seconds to get over his stupor. Predictably enough, the first words to leave his mouth were: “You’re the Dragonborn?”

Saya cringed as the patrons of the inn turned to look at her group.  _ Too many eyes. Too many ears. _ She sighed, nodding. “I’d rather not talk about it.” She spoke quietly, the mug covering her lips for the most part before she raised it and downed whatever alcohol was still left in there. Orgnar took the hint and set the thing aside to be cleaned.

“Oh...” The soldier deflated somewhat, reaching for his tankard awkwardly, but not drinking. “Is… is there any reason why not?”

The Dragonborn gave Lydia a side glance before turning forward again, looking at nothing in particular while figuring out a way to word her thoughts properly. “Do you think you would’ve reacted well if some random elf you didn’t know showed up, claiming to be the Dragonborn of legend?”

Hadvar opened his mouth to respond, but no response actually came through. She had a point.

“Not everyone is anxious for the appearance of the Dragonborn. Most would see it as a good thing, sure, but others might see it as a wild card that needs to be removed off the table.” Saya clasped her fingers together, twiddling her thumbs. “And if some no-goods come looking for me, the less people know, the less people can rat me out. Can’t confess what you don’t know, aye?”

“...Aye.” The Nord nodded, throwing his head back and swallowing a few mouthfuls of mead. Somehow, it didn’t taste too sweet anymore. “Anything else happened to you?”

Saya rubbed her chin, thinking. “Well, I’ve gotten kidnapped by a cult in Markarth, killed most of them... Oh! We also took care of the vampires that were hiding out in a cave nearby. There’s been some activity out there, you should watch out for those. Also, we saw a  _ jester _ -”

The grim mood from earlier was beginning to quickly lift as Saya began to recount her adventures to Hadvar, a smile finding its way onto Lydia’s face as she watched over her Thane from behind her tankard. From the corner of her eye, she could see ‘Delphine’ watching over them, making eye contact with the housecarl. The black-haired Nord gave her a knowing nod, which the Breton returned before continuing on with her work.

\------------------------

The knock on Saya’s door did not come unexpectedly. If anything, the Dunmer sighed, muttering a quiet “Finally…” as she hopped off the bed. Lydia followed her Thane’s movements with her eyes and got off the bed herself, rubbing her eyes. It had been late enough in the night that she was getting sleepy, but she had forced herself to stay awake, knowing that this very thing would happen.

As the door opened, Fortunata was already standing in her own doorway, gesturing for the two to come over. Saya nodded and stepped quietly into her room, with Lydia soon following and closing the door behind them. The closet doors slipped open and the false panel was pushed back into the wall, sliding to the side and revealing the hidden basement in which the blonde Breton had already been waiting.

“Any updates?” Before ‘Delphine’ managed to say anything, Saya instantly threw the question her way. The Breton’s brows furrowed slightly and she shook her head.

“That’s what I wanted to ask you, but I don’t think there’s much you can tell me that you didn’t already tell Hadvar. You should learn to watch the volume.” She grumbled, irritation apparent in her voice, even if not nearly as thick as during their first meeting. Seemingly, having Saya’s Dragonborn status being proven to her curbed the woman’s general attitude of superiority, as small as the change was.

“Gonna tell me I’m not allowed to catch up with a guy who saved my life? You’re a cold one.” Saya chirped, raising an eyebrow as she sat down in the nearby chair. Lydia remained close by, standing at her side. “There weren’t any secrets to keep and I didn’t reveal any ‘secret plans’,” - the Dunmer gestured with air quotes for emphasis, - “if only because I have none and I’m still waiting on your suggestions as to how to find your friend. How’s that part going, by the way?”

“Quite well, actually.” Fortunata said, almost a bit smugly.

The Dragonborn moved forward in her seat, listening much more intently. “What is it?”

‘Delphine’ crossed her arms. “The Thalmor’s organization in Skyrim follows a specific hierarchy. The lowest level are the agents, they have next to no standing or authority on their own. Those are the foot soldiers you meet on the roads and such.” She explained. “The robed ones accompanying them are Justiciars, which serve as squad captains, elite officers, and official enforcers of the White-Gold Concordat here in Skyrim. The agents report to the Justiciars, who, in turn, report to Emissaries. Now  _ these _ are the top dogs.”

“Do you know who these Emissaries are?” Saya asked.

“I do. They don’t exactly try to keep their positions secret.” She scoffed. “The lowest of the Emissaries is the Third Emissary, Rulindil. He is responsible for interrogations and management of information. He is very secretive and only appears to speak directly to his operatives, so his archives should be our target. Next up is Second Emissary, Ondolemar - this one is the chief Talos hunter, and was last seen in Markarth. For now he’s of no use to us, but he’s constantly out in the field and the search-and-destroy squads are his prerogative - make sure your identity is not revealed to him or one of his men.”

The Dragonborn’s hand unwittingly gripped the arm of her chair. “Very well. Anything notable about him I should keep in mind?”

Fortunata nodded. “Pitiful as it is, he has a beard. Most Altmer can’t or won’t grow one - something about it being a mannish feature.”

Saya nodded, standing up and crossing her arms. “And, assuming you saved the best for last, the First Emissary is…?”

“Elenwen.” The Breton finished. “She’s the biggest meddler in Skyrim’s political life, serving as the equivalent of a Dominion ambassador and poking her nose wherever she can. The good part about this is that it means she has an active political life and often hosts parties at the Embassy, where she keeps an eye on the important political figures of Skyrim to make sure they’re still loyal to the Thalmor.”

“And that is good because… why?” Saya scratched her head. “I’m not exactly a jarl or something.”

‘Delphine’ crossed her arms. “You’re a Thane of a hold, and unless you’re one with a very big impact on that hold’s economy the Thalmor won’t bother remembering you as anyone important. If you disguise yourself, you could slip into one of the parties and rifle through the papers of the First Emissary for anything that might be classified. If information on Blades in hiding is stored anywhere - it’ll be there. If not, then you might at least find where Rulindil is keeping his records.”

Saya closed her eyes, nodding and humming for a little while. Then, she raised her hand. “If I may ask one question, though.” All fingers bent except for the index, with which she pointed at Fortunata. “What will you be doing? All of this so far is making it sounds like I’ll be the only person out there. What about you?”

The Breton sighed, annoyance radiating from the way she spoke. “I can’t go. The Thalmor already know what I look and sound like, and a magical disguise will be easily dispelled. I’m still working with my contacts on getting you a legitimate invitation so you don’t have to steal another person’s identity and risk being ‘recognized’ or have the invitation be somehow outed as fake and get yourself taken in for questioning.”

“So I’m going to be alone in all of that. Brilliant.” Saya sighed, crossing her arms. “Since I can’t exactly take my housecarl with me without her being questioned.”

“I never said you’ll have to do it alone. Though the girl will have to stay, yes.” The Breton leaned onto the table, easing up slightly. “I have a man on the inside. I know him well enough to vouch for him being trustworthy. I don’t think I need to explain why I won’t tell you his name until you have to meet him, correct?” The Dunmer nodded. “Good. I’ll tell you where to go when the date of the next party has been finalized and I’ll have everything ready for you.”

“About that.” Saya cut in. “You never did tell me how you plan on informing me. You got an insider courier, too?”

“That’s the other thing I called you here for.” At this, Fortunata went to her backpack, which was hanging off the back of a chair, and pulled a thick tome out of it. “Farengar made this at my request. It’s a spell tome. Read it, and get used to casting the spell when you have.”

“What is it?” The Dragonborn said, tilting her head as she picked up the book.

“You’ll find out.” Saya’s deadpan gaze prompted Fortunata to release yet another irritated sigh as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s a spell, alright? I don’t know what it is yet, but Farengar said it should suit us fine. I have another copy of the tome too, I just haven’t gotten around to reading it yet.”

The redhead smirked, shrugging. “Fair enough. Is that all for tonight, then?” Fortunata nodded. “Then we’ll be going back to our room now. Have a good night.” The Breton murmured something in return as she went back to her papers.

Lydia finally moved from her spot beside the seat and visually deflated from her stoic, straight-backed stance as soon as the two were out of the basement. First thing she did was collapse onto her bed once herself and Saya were back in their room. The Dunmer watched this with a quiet giggle.

“...What is it?” Lydia grumbled, looking up at her Thane with one eye from under the pillow.

Saya used her elbow to support her head as she looked at Lydia with a knowing smile. “You didn’t have to stay awake for the meeting, you know?”

Lydia grumbled. Then, a few seconds later and more audibly, she said: “I know I technically didn’t have to, but I’m still your housecarl. I have a duty to protect you, as my Thane.”

Saya snickered. “Really?”

Lydia turned to look at the Dunmer, her expression dead serious. “Really.”

Slowly, Saya’s smile turned from a kind one into a smug one. “And that’s why you forgot to take your sword, which you specifically placed near the bed so you wouldn’t forget to take it?”

The silence remained unbroken as the pair maintained eye contact for what was really just a few moments, but felt like an eternity as Lydia processed the information. Slowly, she turned her head to her left, seeing the ebony blade crafted by Saya standing inside a dark leather scabbard beside the bed frame. Then, her eyes moved back to her Thane’s face, an obnoxiously smug smirk still adorning her features. Lydia felt her cheeks becoming hotter as she closed her eyes and turned over to face the wall, suppressing the urge to scream.

“Goodnight~.” Came the playful voice from behind her back. Her Thane was rather obviously holding back the desire to laugh. She could appreciate the effort.

“...G-goodnight.” Lydia squeezed out. A few moments later, the candle flame lighting the room was extinguished.

============

**Middas, the 11th of Hearthfire, 4E201**

============

_ I checked back with Alvor and Sigrid the next day. Said hi to little Dorthe, too. Maybe next time I should bring some kind of gift. Alvor insists that it's not necessary, but honestly? I just like seeing the girl's face light up. Life in Tamriel isn't easy, let her enjoy the part of life before she has to work to keep herself alive. Maybe a little dragon doll? That sounds fun. _

_ The trip back to Whiterun was uneventful. I picked some flowers while we were going home and decided to take a moment to just sit by the river. There wasn't much to do in the city anyway, so I just watched the water flow for a while. It's surprisingly calming, even if you see fish struggle to swim upstream. I considered catching some, but Lydia opposed, if only on the account of me wearing armor, a lot of equipment, multiple journals, supplies, weapons… you get the point. For a second I considered taking it off but then I remembered that we are still very close to a guard patrol, a meadery, multiple farms, and one of the bigger cities in the province. Plus it'd probably be inappropriate for a thane to do.  _

_ So instead we just chatted about nothing in particular for a while. Lydia told me a few fun stories, like that one time she crawled onto Dragonsreach's roof to find hawk eggs. To this day, the guards that got her down joke that it was this event that caused her father's baldness.  _

_ About halfway through the story I realized that I didn't really have anything to do with the flowers and that they'd wilt if I just kept them in my bag, so I weaved them into a flower crown and put it on Lydia's head when she was finished. I feel a little bad for laughing at my own housecarl going from composed to flustered and gibbering, but only a little. Worth the earful about inappropriate behavior, that's for sure. _

_ When we got home, I decided to mix things up a little and tried my hand at cooking. A day or two to relax after the whole vampire thing sounds quite good, and Lydia needs the rest. Girl was cranky as all hells this morning.  _

_ Some boiled crab meat here, some potatoes stuffed with cheese there, a little bit of wine to go along with everything. Almost like home, though not quite. Ah, how I'd love some scrib jelly right about now. _

\------------------------

_ I'll have to keep it in mind to salt the crab less next time. Blends with the cheese a bit too much. Oh well, lesson learned.  _

_ I think I'll take a walk before going to sleep. Lydia is insistent on coming with, so who am I to say no. _

============

The night air was chill, though not uncomfortably so. A simple overcoat kept the Dunmer warm, while her housecarl was seemingly comfortable in just her day clothes. A sword was hanging off Lydia's hip, and the woman was constantly keeping one hand on it, her eyes occasionally peering off into the darkness of night. Meanwhile, Saya was behaving rather carefree: the two had just come outside of the city gates, away from the fires of the braziers and torches that lit Whiterun's exterior. The Dragonborn was walking off to the main road with a spring to her step, a weird sort of giddiness that made Lydia decide not to try and stop her Thane and let her have this outing, even with all the dangers in mind.

"--that’s how the old astronomers kept track of the Serpent, by looking for the bleak white stars among all the colorful ones."

"Where is it right now?" 

Saya raised her arm, pointing off into the sky. "Right over there, just under the Tower--"

The Dragonborn continued telling her housecarl what she knew of the various constellations, occasionally pausing to answer any questions the Nord might have before continuing to babble on and on. A small smile graced Lydia's features - even in the dark, Saya's eyes were almost sparkling with enthusiasm. 

"Wait." Suddenly, the Nord stopped in her steps, drawing her sword. Saya looked around in confusion before her eyes had locked onto the same thing that her housecarl had seen, but she did not take the same battle stance, only looking off in curiosity. 

There, west of them on the road, was a transparent silhouette, glowing brightly with starry white against the black of night. It was the visage of a man sitting atop his horse, which was kicking its hooves on the pavement impatiently. The man was soothing the animal, patting its neck and running his fingers through the thick mane. The ghost then sat up straight, and two features came into view - one was the battle axe hanging on his back, and the other was that he had no head. 

For a moment, he almost seemed to look at them. Then, he raised his hand, beckoning the two as a deep, echoing laughter emerged from the ghost. He grabbed the reins, and the horse then took off into the darkness, soon vanishing into thin air.

Lydia turned around, already seeing Saya's mouth opening to suggest something, and instantly cut her off: "You are  _ not  _ following that."

The Dunmer's expression turned into a begrudged pout and, with a hearty harumph, she matched off in the direction of Whiterun. The housecarl shook her head, sheathing her sword and followed suit.

============

_ I am so following that. _

_ Let’s hope the stable boys took care of Annie proper. If all goes well, I’ll be back before she’s awake. _

============

The clopping of the hooves gradually slowed down before Saya hopped off her horse’s back, staring down at the ghost she had been following for the last two hours. His own ethereal steed had disappeared as soon as his feet touched the ground, and a rumbling chuckle echoed around the ruin that the two found themselves at.

Though calling it a ruin would be a bad descriptor for the location. No, it wasn’t some ruin - it was a graveyard. Twelve graves were placed in the center of the open space, surrounded by a stone wall with a metal coffin directly behind the graves. Flowy, curling carvings were etched into each headstone and the coffin’s lid - writings in a language lost to time.

_ “Finality…” _ The horseman whispered, and despite it possessing no mouth or face, Saya could feel it smile. The Dragonborn drew Stormblade and a grim chuckle escaped the ghost again. It raised its hand, reaching for the upper edge of the lid and after grabbing it, pried the coffin open. The slab of metal fell onto the stone floor with a loud clang, phasing through the horseman. Inside the coffin was a draugr, a desiccated corpse of a man in full Nordic-styled plate armor, a battleaxe at his side and sporting a bright-red beard alongside a long mane of hair. The ghost stepped into the coffin, fading away rapidly as the draugr’s eyes were filled by the familiar light blue light.

Saya took a step back when the corpse reached for its axe and left its coffin, a dull growl rumbling from its throat. The Dunmer raised her right arm, reciting the incantation inside her mind as a ball of flames formed at her palm and fired off into the coffin. With speed unnatural for such an undead, the draugr ducked, but the fiery explosion was not entirely avoided as tongues of flame scorched its back, singing the hair and knocking the draugr down to one knee.

Seizing the opportunity, Saya lunged forward with a stabbing strike. The blade lodged itself into the draugr’s throat, but failed to kill it. Seemingly annoyed by this injury, the undead swung its axe in a forceful haymaker. In the spur of the moment, the Dragonborn stepped on the draugr’s shoulder and jumped over it, coming down with another slice that embedded Stormblade in the creature’s skull. The stunned creature had no time to retaliate by the time the mer pulled it out again and struck from the side with a powerful chop, splitting the draugr’s neck and letting its mangled head fall to the floor. The body went limp, the draugr losing grip on its weapon as it collapsed onto its knees, unmoving.

With a sigh, the Dunmer began to look around, exploring her surroundings to the best of her ability even in the dead of night. As her lips mouthed another incantation, a small blue flame sparked up from nowhere, circling her figure and providing some light. The Dragonborn spotted a shine behind the coffin and approached it, smirking once she recognized the shape of a chest and began looking through her pockets for lockpicks. She knelt down and the magical spark moved behind her, providing light as she began to pry the old rusted lock open. Constant small clicks disrupted the silence of the area, and soon enough her mind began to blank out the sound, getting used to it.

So much so even, that when the headless body grasped the handle of its axe again and rose up to follow her, she did not hear it. Its steps were quiet, as if practiced, and even the heavy armor was nigh-silent. Saya continued picking at the lock, biting her lip before she finally heard the click she was looking for and the lock turned, allowing the chest to be opened.

Then, her ears twitched. A growl came from her side, somewhere in the grass. She turned, and her eyes widened when she saw the draugr’s head looking directly at her, its skull split open yet its eyes still glowing with that azure spark of undeath. She looked behind her just in time to see the draugr winding up an overhead slash and gasped.

“ **FEIM!** ” Her lips parted in a Shout, and the weapon passed harmlessly through her, instead smashing into the chest, creating a hole in the lid when the undead started clumsily prying the axehead out of the wood. The Dunmer quickly walked through the draugr, her dagger pulled out with a hiss as she grabbed the head and drove the blade straight into the eye socket, twisting it for good measure before tearing it out and repeating the same thing with the other socket. One more dragged-out groan left its dessicated lips, and then the lights in whatever mess remained of its eyes went out. Saya looked back, and the rest of the body had collapsed onto the floor. Still, for good measure, she threw away the head and shot a fireball into it from a safe distance before kicking over the body, prying its breastplate open with a flaming hand, and then running Stormblade through the thing’s heart.

The chest had opened without any resistance and Saya hummed to herself gleefully, pocketing the various gold and gems she had found inside. Only one item had given her pause from the entire thing - a long piece of string and five dried pieces of muscle, vaguely resembling tongues in the dim light. Sighing, the Dunmer turned around and whistled. A few seconds passed with no reaction, and so, with a quiet curse under her breath, Saya went off into the night, searching for her horse.

============

_ I swear to all the gods there are, I spent like an hour trying to get Annie back. Must’ve gotten spooked by the fire. This kind of thing is why we usually just leave our horses at the stables - riding around on them is convenient, sure, but despite Lydia’s claims I doubt you can really climb a mountain with a horse, and considering they run off after the first signs of danger - they’re much more trouble than they’re worth. _

_ And they’re worth quite a bloody lot. _

_ ...wait, this is past midnight, I should probably mark this. _

============

**Tirdas, the 12th of Hearthfire, 4E201**

============

_ There we go, that’s better. _

_ Once I had Annie reined in properly, I found another ruin. “Deadman’s Cairn”, I think it’s called. It’d still be an hour or two to get back to Whiterun, and frankly, I really couldn’t be asked to ride all the way there with a half-asleep horse and a half-awake rider. So, I grabbed whatever gear I still had on me and set up camp in there. _

_ Before I went to sleep, I actually went deeper into the cairn - surprisingly enough, everything in it was already dead and even looted. Must’ve been some other adventurer. _

_ I did find a word wall inside, though. I could recognize some of the words thanks to Sahloknir’s memory: ‘Qethsegol’ meant ‘bones of earth’, but I think here it just meant ‘stone’. ‘Jun’ is ‘king’. That’s about all I could understand from the whole thing. _

_ The word that whispered to me was ‘Yol’. I don’t know what it means, but… it feels hot, somehow. Dangerous, even. I’ll write it down along with the other symbols I can decipher. _

_ Oh right, I should probably read the book that Delphine got me. Let’s see what Farengar managed to cook up. _

============

“Where was it… ah, right. There it is.” Saya muttered as she pulled out a small black tome from her backpack. The cover was not anything fancy, consisting of dyed black leather, but the Daedric letter ‘Oht’ depicted on the front identified the book as a spell tome of the Conjuration school. For a moment, the Dunmer wondered if Farengar was trying to make the book inconspicuous or if he was just being cheap, but quickly disregarded the thought process. It was definitely the latter. 

Getting comfortable in her bedroll, Saya took a deep breath before opening the tome. When she did, the text inside immediately lit up and the pages began turning to ash, rapidly burning up in light blue flames that seemed to spark out of nowhere. The Dragonborn's eyes flashed with the same color once the entirety of the book had vanished, and she released a deep sigh.

The practice of spell tomes was relatively recent - the first prototypes were being made just before the times of the Oblivion Crisis. To this day, though, they were still rather expensive, as the only way to produce them is to have an experienced mage inscribe all their knowledge about a specific spell into a book before enchanting it with a specific type of magic that’d instantly transfer all of the knowledge  _ and  _ precise understanding of said knowledge into the reader’s mind. As such, the incantation to the spell was already ingrained into Saya’s memory as though she came up with it herself.

“Now, let’s see what you actually do…” She murmured, closing her eyes. Her right hand moved in accordance to the motions inscribed in the book as she mentally recited the mantra required for casting the spell. She felt her fingers pull at the flow of magicka in the air, as if dipping her hand into water, and its otherworldly cold concentrated in the center of her palm. The end of the spell’s gesture required placing her hand out forward with a clenched fist, which she did with a soft exhale.

Moments later, she felt a weight on her forearm, as though something was placed on top of it. The Dragonborn opened her eyes, and couldn’t help but instinctively squeak. Atop her bracer sat a falcon, with black feathers that faded into light grey on the belly, tail, and the tip of the wings. There was one thing that gave away its unnatural origins - its eyes were a deep, dark purple, with a glowing yellow pupil. The bird tilted its head, curiously looking at the surprised Saya, who was staring back with almost childish amazement at the daedric avian.

“Okay, little guy… Um… I’ll just write something up really quick.” She said, carefully putting the bird on a nearby rock and ripping out a page from the back of her journal, scribbling away with a coal stick under the curious, watchful eye of the summoned creature.

============

When Lydia awoke, the first thing she noticed was the very apparent absence of her Thane. Cautiously, the housecarl dressed and grabbed her sword, which she always kept by the bed, strapping it to her belt as she descended the stairs. Every single room she looked into was empty, and so the Nord sighed in exasperation, shaking her head as she figured that Saya had left for another shopping trip. The housecarl put on her boots, grabbing her key to Breezehome and opening the door to go searching for her Thane in the marketplace.

Instead, she was met with… a bird. Just a bird calmly sitting on the sign in front of their house that said “Breezehome”, staring at her with its big beady eyes.

Eyes that were, for some reason, glowing.

“What are you-” the housecarl’s line was interrupted with a harsh, high-pitched squawk before the falcon raised one of its legs, shaking it. At first, Lydia was confused at this, but then she noticed the small piece of paper attached to the avian’s limb. She carefully reached for the falcon, pulling the paper out and unfolding it. It read:

_ “Good morning, Lydia! _

_ I may or may not have followed the ghost that you told me not to follow. Don’t worry though! I dealt with it, and I’m uninjured. I found an empty ruin to nap in, but if all goes fine then I should be back by tomorrow noon. _

_ Signed, Saya” _

Slowly, Lydia looked back up to the bird. It looked back at her. Then, it squawked again and began flapping its wings before promptly disappearing into a cloud of purple mist. Lydia looked at the note again, then at where the bird had just been, sighed, and turned around, closing the door behind her.


End file.
